The Sword, The Wolf And The Dragon
by Skuldakn
Summary: [AU] When Robb Stark won the war against Joffrey Lannister, he had hoped his family would be reunited. Then Joffrey's last act was to kill his father right in front of Robb. Now he is King, his Hand the new Lord of the North and he has secured an alliance with House Martell. But when Daenerys Stormborn, conquerer of Essos comes calling, will he be able to stand against the Dragon?
1. Kolgrim

_[So, here we are. This is the first chapter of my 'Fuck you, Robb Stark lives!' story. This entire idea was given to me by a reader, I thank you so much person-I-promised-not-to-name. I hope everyone likes it, please review and tell me what I did right/wrong. Hopefully the OC isn't too god-like. Enjoy!]_

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 _ **The Sword, The Wolf And The Dragon**_

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 _ **Chapter One: Kolgrim**_

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"Down! Down!" Kolgrim shouted to his men. The ballista shot fired from the Stark lines just barely shot over them, searing the air they breathed.

"Why the fuck are we climbing walls?" Kolgrim's second, Howland, cried out.

"It's the fastest way to meet with Robb! Let's go!" Kolgrim waved his sword forwards and pushed on. As he charged, he thought back on the events leading up to this day. As Lord of the Rills, the most western part of the North, he had answered when Robb Stark had called on his bannermen, even though he was only eighteen. But then again, Robb himself was sixteen. Kolgrim only commanded a total of four thousand men, and Robb Stark had assembled an army of nearly twenty thousand in a few weeks. So Kolgrim called his aging grandmother, the source of all the Rills intrigue. She had given him a plan to raise an army that would be greater than the Lannister hosts Robb was going to face. The captains of hundreds of Essosi and Westerosi Lances, mercenary companies, to his castle. There, he inserted his own agents into the mercenary's camps. His men created goodwill to him and ill feelings to the captains. When the meeting happened, Kolgrim had over two hundred men meeting him in the courtyard in the middle of his keep. Kolgrim was a big man, about six and a half feet tall. He weighed several stones and was able to wear fur-lined plat armour and wield a bastard sword in a single hand. Though that was nothing compared to some men in legend and life. But even these things meant nothing under the gaze of all the battle-scarred men arrayed there.

"What are we doing here lordling?" They had asked. Kolgrim had kept quiet until the moment when his men showed themselves, an archer for each captain on the ramparts. There had been anger, indignant cries and threats of death. Kolgrim gave them an ultimatum, swear fealty to him and live, or refuse and be executed as criminals. It somehow worked. Most accepted his offer, and the few who didn't learned the extent of his will. After it was all done, Kolgrim went south to Moat Cailin, with thirty thousand men and a few dozen ballista at his back marching under the black and white swords of House Rykker. A few captains rebelled along the way, but thanks to his agents' work the men did not revolt with them. By the time he reached the ancient fortress his entire council was made of men utterly loyal to him, and only him. He smiled at the memory of Catelyn Stark's face when she rode out of the gates of the castle with her son, the Greatjon, the Reeds, Roose Bolton and the Manderlys.

"Lord Rykker. You're late." Robb Stark had said, scanning the army Kolgrim had brought.

"I know my lord. It was unavoidable. But I have a gift to make up for it." Kolgrim had grinned at his lord. "Thirty thousand trained and hardened men, ready and eager to fight and win." It was then that the Greatjon had burst into laughter. Howland Reed had followed, then Bolton, then the Manderlys. Then Robb Stark gave his orders. The two armies, nineteen thousand and thirty marched to the Twins, an excellent battle plan in Robb's mind. When Lord Frey saw the host the Lord of the North commanded, he opened his gates nearly immediately. The fact that the Greatjon, Maege of Bear Island and Kolgrim himself bursting into his hall and implying he was held at sword point may have had something to do with it. So Kolgrim's host marched to fight Lord Tywin Lannister's host of twenty thousand men while Robb and his host marched to free Riverrun. Roose Bolton had been sent with Rykker, thought the Bolton men stayed with Robb's host. Thanks to Roose Bolton's advise, Kolgrim used his Essosi crossbowmen to whittle away at Lord Tywin's forces until Tywin was forced to charge, lest his men all be killed by nightfall. But Tywin charged uphill, his cavalry going too slow to make to past Kolgrim's spears. Every time a

horse fell to a man's spear, a second man was there to finish off the fallen knight. Tywin's host went from twenty, to ten, to five to a full retreat by the next daybreak.

"A good fight!" Kolgrim's men cheered. Kolgrim had joined them in their revels, something that his grandmother later told him endeared him to the men. It was a day later he received a raven from Robb's host, telling him the Lannisters there were smashed. Jaime Lannister had fled, either to Casterly Rock or to King's Landing. Suddenly reminded of the enemy leader, Kolgrim had asked Roose Bolton if Tywin Lannister had been captured. Bolton had shaken his head, said that Tywin had fled.

"Casterly Rock," The gaunt man determined. Kolgrim wrote a quick letter to Robb, telling him of their victory and Tywin's flight. When more orders were received, Kolgrim began to march south. He met with Robb, the remnants of the Tullys and surprisingly, the Vale. When Robb called his generals together and asked the Vale commander about Lord Robert, he was told that the sickly boy had fallen down a flight of stairs in front of his mother. Ridden with grief, Lysa Arryn had thrown herself out the Moon Door, some sort of Valeman execution. Lord Arryn's cousin Jace Arryn had taken command and given orders to join Lord Robb. Robb's army had started with eighteen thousand, then forty eight thousand, now it had swelled to sixty nine thousand men. The Crownlands had levies of their own, but most ran when they saw the combined might of three Houses. Not long after, the Tyrells and the Greyjoys sent token forces of a few thousand men each to join them. The commander of the Greyjoy men bluntly stated that Lord Balon wanted his son free from 'Stark foolishness' in exchange for their assistance. The Tyrells commander put it far more eloquently.

"Lord Mace wishes for most of his force to defend himself. After all, the Baratheon's are raising their own armies against the throne, and Lord Mace does not know if they mean to defeat him first." The commander of the host had relayed. It didn't matter. The Westerlands crushed, the Vale and the Riverlands with him, the Tyrells token force and this new information of the Baratheons raising their own armies meant that the Stormlands would not stand with the King. Well, the King of the Iron Throne. When Robb had accepted the Tyrell's help, Kolgrim and the Greatjon had stepped forwards.

"The lords of the North have discussed this, and the Tullys and Arryns have consented." Kolgrim began. He and the Greatjon then pulled out their swords, as did the the rest of the northern lords, and a few southrons.

"All hail the King in the North, Robb Stark!" They both cried out, kneeling. One by one, the lords of the North, the Vale and the Riverlands knelt, pledging allegiance to Lord, no, _King_ Robb. The armies stopped their march for a few days, men celebrating and some whining. Kolgrim himself had more than one reason to celebrate. He had come across two Greyjoy men attempting to rape a young woman. Kolgrim had run after them when he heard the woman scream. throwing both men off of her. They hadn't managed it, the young woman had fought too hard. Kolgrim had dueled both men, fighting them with his bastard sword. The first man was piss drunk, that much was obvious. He died when Kolgrim opened him up from neck to stomach. But the second man tripped Kolgrim. He went down, falling hard in his armour. The second man laughed a horrid laugh and bent back to behead the young lord. Kolgrim glanced around him and saw the first man's longsword. Kolgrim was strong, but he wasn't strong like the Greatjon. His bastard sword lay to his left, and while he had trained in left handed fighting he wasn't skilled enough to wield it with just his left. So Kolgrim shot his hand out, wrapping around the hilt of the longsword. He slashed blindly, somehow managing to cut down the man to Kolgrim's level. Kolgrim had stumbled to his feet, stabbing downwards as fast as he could. With that, he grabbed his bastard sword and sheathed it over his back. Looking at the longsword still in his hand, Kolgrim hesitated. Then he unbuckled the scabbard from the first man and strapped it to his own right hip.

"Are you alright?" He had asked, rushing to the woman. She had recoiled from his touch, looking fearfully at the bloody armoured Kolgrim as if he were an Other itself.

"Shh, shh." Kolgrim had reassured her. "Take my hand." He said softly. The woman, fear still in her eyes, took it. Kolgrim helped her to her feet, but blocked her from looking at the dead men.

"Don't look. Just come." He took her away from the back of the camp, to his own tent.

"Do you live nearby?" He asked her. She shook her head.

"Can you tell me where you're from?" Kolgrim asked.

"The North, my lord." She croaked. Kolgrim handed her a wineskin and she drank heavily.

"What are you doing here, my lady?" Kolgrim said softly. She looked at him suspiciously. Kolgrim held his hands up in a surrender position. "You can trust me."

"I am following my brother." She admitted. "We live together at the Rills."

"The Rills?" Kolgrim asked incredulously.

"Aye my lord." She continued. "He's a captain for our lord, Kolgrim Rykker." She finally started looking around the tent. "You have a nice tent my lord. Do you perhaps know Lord Rykker? Could you ask him if he knows my brother?"

"That depends on your brother's name." Kolgrim smiled.

"Joran, my lord. Joran of Lake Geir." Kolgrim knew of Lake Geir. It was the largest city in the Rills, just an hour walking from his keep. And he knew Joran. Joran was technically lowborn, but he came from a family with a history of lordship. He was one of Kolgrim's best soldiers and captains, and had been given command of a Westerosi Lance numbering about fifteen hundred men.

"If memory serves," Kolgrim said, "Joran should be in the Rills camp, drinking and singing."

"My lord?" The woman asked, astonished. "How do you know that? Lord Rykker is our lord-"

"And you asked Lord Rykker." Kolgrim explained.

"I- oh." The woman gaped. "My lord, I am so sorry-"

"Don't be." Kolgrim interrupted. He noticed her wince and tried to smile gently. "You had no way of knowing."

"Yes my lord." The woman bowed. "Where is the Rills camp?"

"Just outside." Kolgrim told her. "Come. Joran is there. A good man he is. He speaks of you frequently. You are Alys, correct?"

"Aye my lord." Alys smiled at him. Kolgrim opened the tent's flap and led Alys outside. Sure enough, Joran was sitting in front of a roaring fire, singing to his friends.

"Joran! Get over here!" Kolgrim shouted. Joran flinched massively, falling off his bench onto his back.

"Coming my lord!" He called back. Joran leapt to his feet and dusted off his mail. He rushed over to Kolgrim and pounding a fist on his chest in the customary salute.

"What is it my lord?" Joran asked.

"I have someone for you." Kolgrim told him.

"What? No my lord! I'm sorry, but I'm married! I can't have a whore!" Joran exclaimed. The he looked to Kolgrim's right.

"Alys!" He exclaimed.

"Hello Brother." She grinned at him. They embraced, Joran near tears.

"Thank you my lord." He whispered.

"Don't thank me." Kolgrim had smiled. "She came all the way down here. A good sister." Kolgrim had waved them goodbye and went back to King Robb's tent. There, he lost a drinking match to the Greatjon. The next few weeks turned into a few months. The Stormlands army crushed a large host of Crownlanders, and Renly Baratheon himself king and declared Robb Stark a usurper of his rightful land.

"Bullshit!" Robb's council told him. Both Kolgrim and the Greatjon, Robb's greatest friends on the council, pushed for eliminating the larger threat, the Stormlands, before marching on King's Landing. Robb was moved by his friend's statements, so he gave his orders. The armies chased each other across the Crownlands, Robb taking the advantage quickly. Over those months, Kolgrim saw Alys more and more, until they began a budding romance. Some would call it a lord and his plaything, but Kolgrim loved her, and his grandmother gave him a plan to marry her without any noble backlash. But that would happen later, much later. When they finally caught the main Stormlands host, Renly surrender his forces, about twelve thousand, to Robb. The Baratheons swore loyalty, but not fealty, to the King in the North. With Renly at his feet, the Lannisters crushed, the Tyrells and the Greyjoys playing as neutral as they could, the Vale and the Riverlands swearing fealty to him, Robb marched for King's Landing. A plan was made, to fire carefully aimed ballista into the Red Keep, but leaving the city unharmed. Thus, here Kolgrim was, fighting his way through gold cloaks and Lannister men alike on the walls of the Red Keep.

"Down sir!" Someone yelled. A flash of metal by his face jolted Kolgrim from his memories.

"Fuck!" Kolgrim roared, a spear embedded in the wall next to him. Kolgrim glanced to the tower he and his men were approaching. A single gold cloak stood there, preparing to throw another javelin. Kolgrim dropped his bastard sword and wrenched at the javelin next to him. He managed to pull it out somehow, spinning it around in his hand and hurling it back towards it's owner. Kolgrim missed of course, the spearhead glancing off the stone of the tower. But it shocked the gold cloak, giving one of Kolgrim's men enough time to notch an arrow in his bow and shoot at the man. The arrow flew fast, but a little too low. It stuck itself in the lower leg of the gold cloak. He cried out in pain and lurched back, grabbing at his foot. The only problem, was that his back was to the opening. The gold cloak flung himself out of the tower with such force that instead of falling straight down onto the wall, he fell off to the right, shooting down towards the city.

"YAAAAAA!" Kolgrim's men shouted in victory. They had good reason to. Most of the army was at the several gates, tying up most of the two thousand gold cloaks. Only about two hundred remained in the Red Keep, along with a hundred and fifty Lannister soldiers, if the spies were to be believed. So Robb had about six hundred of his men, including the Greatjon, Kolgrim, Maege Mormont and Robb himself scale the Keep in ladders from outside the city. By now, most of the gold cloaks would be dead at the gates and Robb's army starting to move in. Kolgrim's forty had been chosen to charge the main entrance. They only lost ten men, while killing nearly twice their original number.

"Come on men! To the throne room!" Kolgrim roared, grabbing his sword and waving it over his head.

"YEAH!" They shouted back, following Kolgrim as he charged off the wall and onto the entryway of the Red Keep. The two guardsmen outside the doors were taken down by arrows before they could even utter a sound. Unfortunately, the luck didn't last.

"My lord! Behind us!" Someone shouted. Kolgrim turned and saw another twenty gold cloaks charging up to the Keep.

"Howland, Gared, with me!" Kolgrim called out. A heavily armed and armoured Gared marched forwards with a lighter armoured Howland wielding a bow followed. "The rest of you, hold them off! Kolgrim sheathed his bastard sword and waved his men forward. Together, Kolgrim, Howland and Gared heaved the doors open and closed behind them.

"Three men?" A whiny, childish voice cried out. "They sent three men to kill me!"

"Your Grace, perhaps you should just kill them instead of being upset." A much stronger voice advised. Kolgrim and his men turned to face the inside of the Red Keep. At the end of the huge hall they had entered lay the Iron Throne, made of the dozens of swords of Aegon Targaryen's defeated foes. On it sat a young golden haired boy in plush clothing. Standing next to the throne was a tall, attractive man in gold armour and a white cloak, also with golden hair.

"The King and the Kingslayer." Howland breathed. Then Kolgrim looked closer to them and saw five more men.

"The Kingsguard." Kolgrim groaned. He hadn't thought this through. If he lived, his grandmother would kill him.

"Yes, you're right Uncle. Dog!" The boy shouted. One of the whitecloaks turned to look at him, and Kolgrim saw the scar that Sandor Clegane made famous.

"Yes Your Grace?" Clegane asked.

"Send forth a champion! Let's see if Robb Stark can fight like he claims." Kolgrim let out a loud laugh at this.

"Robb Stark isn't here boy. You're stuck with me." Kolgrim growled. He felt odd calling someone else 'boy', as he was only eighteen. But he shook off that thought when a whitecloak approached.

"Draw your sword, wretch!" He called out, removing his helmet and coif. He had blond hair cut like a squire's and a small goatee. He held an ornate longsword, shorter than Kolgrim's bastard sword but faster.

"Let's go." Kolgrim growled again, reaching to his shoulder. His sword was strapped there, and it made an excellent _shing_ as he drew it. The whitecloaks face never turned from it's resolute pose. Kolgrim pointed the tip of his sword at the whitecloak, waiting. They circled each other, neither breaking eye contact.

"AAAAGH!" The whitecloak suddenly screamed, rushing forwards and bringing his sword up over his head. Kolgrim shot to the left and slash behind him, feeling his sword cut through mail and flesh.

"Gah!" The whitecloak gasped. Kolgrim turned back to face him, just barely meeting a stab for his throat. Kolgrim parried several slashes to his chest and legs, hopping over a very low cut. The whitecloak returned the favour, deflecting Kolgrim's heavy overhead strike.

"You're good." Kolgrim grunted as he backed off. "I'm better."

"Ha!" The whitecloak laughed. "Prove it!" He slashed low again, trying to cut Kolgrim down. But Kolgrim saw it coming. He leapt up again, sooner than before. His feet came down straight onto the whitecloak's sword. With Kolgrim's entire weight on it, his sweep was interrupted, and the whitecloak stumbled towards Kolgrim. Kolgrim caught him by the shoulder, stabbing deep into the man's chest. He pulled the whitecloak closer, drawing the bastard sword deeper until they were face to face.

"I'm better." Kolgrim said plainly as the life flew from the whitecloak's eyes. Kolgrim got his foot in between him and the body and pushed it from his blade.

"Ser Greenfield!" Another whitecloak shouted. Kolgrim turned to see the other three Kingsguards drawing their weapons. The balding, ugly one held a longsword, as the one with the long angular ginger beard. The one next to Clegane, the one with long brown hair drew a greatsword, a bit longer than the bastard sword in Kolgrim's hand.

"Charge!" The brown haired one roared, advancing. An arrow flew past Kolgrim's shoulder, embedding itself into the forehead of the balding one. The whitecloaks stopped their advance, and Kolgrim spun around to see who had helped. Howland stood there, reaching back for another arrow. And next to him . . .

"Your Grace." Kolgrim nodded to King Robb. He tried to stay calm, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face. Wearing a suit of plate, a longsword in his hand, cloak over his shoulders and steel in his eyes, Robb Stark looked the part of the conquering hero. Gared and the Greatjon flanked Robb, following behind him as the Young Wolf strolled next to Kolgrim.

"Surrender." Robb called out to the boy.

"Never! KILL THEM!" He shrieked in return. The Hound gave the boy a long look, then glanced at Robb. Then Sandor Clegane did something Kolgrim could never expect of a Kingsguard. He stepped back.

"What?" The Greatjon rumbled.

"Take them." Clegane ordered. "I will support you." The two remaining whitecloaks advanced.

"I am Ser Meryn Trant." The one with the pointed beard called.

"I am Ser Arys Oakheart." The one with long brown hair followed up. Robb nodded to Kolgrim and the Greatjon, who advanced to face their foes. The fights went similar to the way Kolgrim's previous duel had gone. Two long, drawn out duels with men unsure of their cause. It didn't take long for the Greatjon to lob off Trant's head or for Kolgrim to bash his hilt into Oakheart's skull. That left The Hound, The Kingslayer and Joffrey.

"Your city is taken. Your vassals have risen up. Your armies are crushed. Your men are dead. Surrender." Robb ordered.

"Ha!" Joffrey sneered!" "You forgot something! Bring them!" Immediately following the boy-king's call, a pair gold cloaks brought in two prisoners, a girl and a man. The gold cloaks shoved them to the ground and tore off the bags on their heads.

"Father! Sansa!" Robb yelled.

"I challenge you, Robb Stark!" Joffrey shrieked. "Face me and die, or your family will be executed." The gold cloaks drew their swords, holding them to the Stark's throats.

"Don't do it. He'll kill them anyway!" The Greatjon hissed at Robb. The King in the North shot the huge man a glare.

"If I don't do it, he'll kill them anyway." Robb said softly. He unclasped his cloak, letting it fall behind him. Robb twirled his longsword in his hand, pointing it at Joffrey in a challenging pose. The boy-king snarled, grabbing at a large greatsword next to him. When he couldn't lift it higher than his waist, Joffrey threw it down in disgust.

"Your father's sword is stupid and weak! I need a real blade." He shot a glare at his uncle. Jaime Lannister begrudgingly drew his own sword and handed it to his king. Joffrey strolled smugly to the open area of the hall, facing Robb.

"Come on Stark, let me kill you in front of your father." Joffrey grinned. "TO THE DEATH!" He screamed before charging headlong at Robb. Robb stood his ground until the last second, skipping to the side and slashing Joffrey's thigh.

"You-" Joffrey gasped, stumbling as he went. "You cut me!"

"I'll do worse than that." Robb growled. Kolgrim grinned as he watched his king beat down the Lannister fool. He refused to see this boy as an heir to the Baratheon dynast, to King Robert. Robb once again gave Joffrey a slash, this one across the cheek. Joffrey screamed and jumped away from Robb. Then Kolgrim heard a clicking sound. He spun around to see the Kingslayer loading a bolt into a pint-sized crossbow. It would kill Robb if it hit him in the right spot, and it would certainly give Joffrey an opening to hit him if it didn't kill him.

"UMBER!" Kolgrim roared, wielding his sword. The Greatjon looked at Kolgrim charging, then saw the crossbow in the Kingslayer's hand. With a roar of his own, the Greatjon charged after Kolgrim. Jaime Lannister was too focused on aiming his weapon to notice Kolgrim until Kolgrim tackled him to the ground. They tumbled to the ground, scratching each other on their armour and making a mess of clanking sounds. Kolgrim managed to hold down the Kingslayer until the Greatjon reached them. The Greatjon flung Kolgrim off of Jaime Lannister and wrapped the man in a bear hug. Kolgrim could hear ribs cracking underneath the Kingslayer's armour. But he didn't have time to focus on that, as he saw Joffrey running from Robb. No, not from Robb. To Lord Stark.

"Curse you! Curse you to all the hells!" Joffrey cried. He grabbed Lord Stark's hair and handed it to the gold cloak. Robb realized what was happening at the same time Kolgrim did, and he started running to Joffrey. But he was too slow. Joffrey wound back his sword and chopped at Lord Stark's neck. The sword cut in deep, blood spurting from the wound over Joffrey's face. Lord Stark gasped, and then his body went still.

"FATHER!" Robb and Sansa screamed simultaneously. Kolgrim jumped to his feet and rushed at Joffrey.

"No!" Robb shouted. He twirled his sword, glaring at Joffrey. "He's mine." The boy-king looked scared now.

"Kill him!" He ordered his gold cloaks. They nodded, taking their swords and rushing at Robb. He cut them down like a farmer scythes through wheat. Robb leapt forwards, wrapping a gauntleted hand around Joffrey's throat. The boy-king gagged, clawing futilely at the metal.

"Agh!" The Greatjon shouted suddenly. Kolgrim turned, seeing the Greatjon fall away. He had a dagger in his gut, embroidered the same as the Kingslayer's sword had been.

"No!" Kolgrim shouted. He watched, running at the Kingslayer as he raised the crossbow. It was aimed right at the back of Robb's head. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Both Kolgrim and the Greatjon shouted at Robb, and the Young Wolf started to turn. Kolgrim drew his longsword from his hip, hurling it point first at Jaime Lannister. The Kingslayer dodged it, aiming and firing without a second thought. The greatjon tackled him a second later. Kolgrim stared in horror as the bolt sailed through the air, flying for Robb. But something went wrong. Robb Stark turned to see what his bannermen were yelling about, leaving empty air where he was. The bolt shot past Robb's face without doing any damage. Robb lurched back a second after it passed, letting go of Joffrey. But the boy-king continued gagging. Everyone in the room stared at Joffrey. He stood their, once golden tunic stained red, red from the blood pouring from his neck. The Kingslayer's bolt had lodged itself there, piercing straight through. Joffrey stood a second more before falling to the stone floor, motionless. The Kingslayer roared in anger, but a fist from the Greatjon put an end to that. Robb Stark simply stood in the centre of the hall, between the bodies of his dead foe and his dead father. Sansa was freed, and she joined Robb for a while, as did Lady Stark. But the both left eventually. But not Kolgrim. He sat on the steps to the throne, watching as bannerman after bannerman trickled in. When enough had entered, Kolgrim Rykker decided to act. He marched up to Robb and grabbed his shoulders.

"You are my friend, Your Grace." Kolgrim began. "You deserve this." Kolgrim turned Robb to face his men.

"Robb Stark! King in the North!" Kolgrim roared, raising Robb's hand. The bannermen let out a cheer, helmet's flying into the air.

"Robb Stark! Robb Stark!" They echoed.

"Robb Stark, King of the Iron Throne!" Kolgrim roared again.

"King of the Iron Throne! King of the Iron Throne!"


	2. Myranda

_[Hey, what's up! New chapter for The Sword, The Wolf and The Dragon! I am so happy that so many people have checked this story out! I hope to have another chapter out in about a week, so there's that!_

 _Thanks to the reviewers: Master of Dragons God, FeathersEarned and Guest_

 _Thanks to the favourites: Charles-the-Hammer, Master of Dragons God (again), Spidey Legend and amul2513_

 _Thanks to the followers: Barcelona1397, COOL-STORY-BRO1993, IrishDreamer4, KunnegAndris, LoneWolfTitan, Master of Dragons God (again x2), Stars in the Void, Wolfshark, Xarserum, amul2513 (again), fpsmcducky, james bond son of athena, mythule and ncass1990_

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 _Chapter Two: Myranda_

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It had been twenty one years since the War of the Young Wolf, yet all the maesters seemed concerned with was making sure every child knew every single detail of it. It wasn't even as interesting as the War Of The Dawn.

"And so, with the added forces of the Stormlands, King Robb marched on King's Landing." Grand Maester Horas droned on. Many children of visiting lords were gathered around him, gazing upon paintings done of her father's glory in battle. They were mostly the heirs of high lords among the Stormlands and the Reach. And as the oldest child of King Robb Stark, Myranda had to know all of them. Even though most were only nine. So she was here, helping the Grand Maester with his history lessons.

"Ooh! Ooh!" A young boy called out. Horas blinked, scanning for which one.

"Yes, Lord Redwyne?" He asked when he spotted the right child.

"What did my grandfather do during the war?" The little Redwyne asked.

"Hmm," Horas thought. "If memory serves, I believe your grandfather was ordered by Lord Mace Tyrell to blockade King's Landing by sea. His fleet sank many Lannister ships."

"Thank you maester." The boy grinned. _At least he knows courtesy_ , Myranda thought.

"Now, where were we?" Horas turned back to the painting. "Ah, yes. This painting was done two months after King Robb's coronation. You can see him here on his warhorse, the good Lord Umber beside him and Lord Rykker defending him from this Lannister footman, who-" Myranda had managed to get herself away from everyone's sight, and took this chance to bolt out of the room. The library was quite big, so she was able to put some distance between herself and this history lesson very quickly. She reached the heavy oak door before any noticed she was gone.

"Huh," She sighed after leaving. Myranda leaned against the stone wall and ran fingers through her hair. She slid down to the floor and chuckled to herself. Grand Maester Horas was a sweet old man, very happy and eager to help most of the time. But he was so dull in his lessons! Myranda had gone through thirteen years of his lessons since she turned five years old. She was done.

"And what are you doing out here sister?" A light voice laughed. Myranda glared up at her brother, standing there in his leather armour, chewing on an apple.

"What are you doing here Dorren? I thought you were training?" Myranda shot back.

"I'll tell if you tell?" Dorren offered, plopping himself down next to her. Myranda nodded her consent.

"Well, you see, I beat everyone. For all their reputation, the gold cloaks aren't actually that skilled." Dorren laughed. Myranda snorted. Dorren was fifteen, three years her junior. Yet he somehow still had the sense of invincibility a three year old had.

"Wasn't Lord Rykker there?" Myranda asked.

"No." Dorren scowled. "He was too busy training his 'Varangian Guard'. What does Varangian even mean?"

"It's an old Valyrian word. It means 'pledger'. You know, because the Varangian Guard pledges itself to serve the king, and only the king?" Myranda explained.

"Huh." Dorren nodded. "Makes sense." He reached behind him and pulled out another apple. "Want one?"

"Where did you get that?" Myranda asked?

"The kitchens."

"No, I mean where did it just come from?" Myranda rolled her eyes.

"Oh. I put a couple of them in my pouch." Dorren laughed, chowing down again. "Your turn. Why are you out here sister, instead of in there with all the younglings?"

"Younglings?" Myranda laughed. "You're barely older than them!"

"Six years is significantly older!" Dorren shot back. "Besides, as I hear it, Ser Loras won a tourney when he was fifteen. I am just as good a swordsman! So why shouldn't I be considered older!"

"Because you can't even beat Lord Rykker? Didn't you call him a stubborn mule of a man, too old to know what's happening around him?" Myranda laughed at her brother. Dorren swung softly at her, Myranda blocking it easily.

"I did call him stubborn, but I never called him old. He's just two years older than Father." Dorren explained. Myranda just kept smiling, pulling herself to her feet.

"Come on. I want to see the Varangians." She giggled, pulling her brother after her.

"Now who's childish?" Dorren chuckled.

"I never said childish!"

"Fine, fine. Let's go." Dorren surrendered, letting Myranda tug him through the corridors. They passed several of their father's men, patrolling the Red Keep. Myranda shot one of them a question.

"He's in the main courtyard!" The guardsman shouted after her. Myranda called back her thanks and kept going. Just as the guardsman said, they found Lord Rykker in the main courtyard with thirty men of the Varangian Guard.

"There's only thirty." Myranda said, looking down from the balcony they were on. She was hoping for one of the grand brawls the Varangians made famous in their training.

"What, did you think all twenty thousand would be here?" Dorren mocked. Myranda punched him lightly in the arm.

"Oh, I am wounded dear sister!" Dorren's face turned white. He stumbled backwards, holding his arm as though it were in a sling.

"Oh, be still and die quietly." Myranda shot back.

"How cruel are the gods, to give me a sister that will not even heal my injured body!" Dorren wailed, falling to his knees. "Please, gods of the weirwood! Let me die if you wish, but I pray you give my sister a shred of mercy!"

"I have mercy! I had Father send that bandit to the Wall, instead of the graves!" Myranda defended herself.

"Good point." Dorren mumbled. "So, what now? Will the great knight Myranda Stark join the Varangians, to fight her king's enemies?"

"I might as well, if you're not going to!" Myranda shot back.

"I already told you!" Dorren shouted at her. Myranda knew now she had gone to far. Her brother was like their grandfather, Father always said, honourable. Unfortunately, once Dorren heard that he went around challenging anyone who insulted his honour. It was amusing when it was a small boy with a stick, but Dorren was almost a man now, with steel instead of wood.

"I trained, just like Father said!" Dorren ranted. "I beat every gold cloak Ser Jacelyn sent against me!"

"Alright brother, I'm sorry." Myranda held up a hand towards Dorren. He glared at her, but he started to calm down. Then Mother intervened.

"What is going on here?" Queen Arianne demanded, striding towards her children. She was followed by her two handmaidens whose names escaped Myranda.

"Nothing Mother." Myranda mumbled sheepishly.

"Please Myranda, speak up. Never let anyone intimidate you, or know they've intimidated you." Mother instructed. Myranda raised her head and nodded understanding.

"And you, Dorren." Mother turned her withering gaze on her son. "Why are you screaming like a child chased by monsters?"

"I overreacted. I'm sorry Mother." Dorren looked her in the eye, not blinking.

"You are the prince. You must act like it." Mother held the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Why don't you both take example from Luella." Luella Rykker was the oldest trueborn child of Lord Rykker, a woman of eighteen years. Just like Myranda. Lord Rykker had eight children. His oldest child was Perwyn Snow, a bastard. Lord Rykker never explained where Perwyn came from, though when she asked the boy himself Perwyn told Myranda his mother was a soldier from Essos. Lord Rykker's oldest trueborn son Eddard lived in the Rills, governing it for his father. Cellador Rykker, Lord Rykker's second son, also lived in the Rills, as did Kathlyn, Arwen and Marnan Rykker, the rest of Lord Rykker's daughters. His younger son Theo lived in King's Landing, all eleven years of him. Gregor Rykker, the youngest child, was being fostered in Winterfell with her uncle Brandon.

"What example is that Mother?" Myranda asked. She couldn't think of anything Luella had done recently that was so important her mother would take notice. Queen Arianne had a great distaste for Lord Rykker, due to differencing opinions of the realm.

"Look." Mother said, pointing to the training ground. Myranda and Dorren walked to the edge of the balcony. Lord Rykker had given command of the training to his captain, Howland Cole. Lord Rykker himself was standing away from the main body, holding arrows. Next to him stood a lean archer, firing accurately into a target.

"I don't get it." Dorren said out loud. Their mother sighed.

"The archer is Luella." Mother explained.

"He's training his daughter to shoot?" Dorren asked, completely astounded.

"Do you know why?" Mother asked.

"No." Both Myranda and Dorren admitted.

"It is because Luella asked. She wanted her father to train her. And when she asked, he accepted." Mother was staring directly at Dorren now. "Next time you feel like complaining about how Lord Rykker won't help, perhaps you should try that first. Now go, train with the fool." Mother gave Dorren a pat on the head and a quick kiss on the cheek to Myranda. Dorren rushed off and Myranda started to follow. But before she got very far, she turned back to her mother.

"Will he accept if I ask?"

"Of course child. He's already training one girl. Two won't make that much of a difference." Her mother smiled. Myranda grinned back and hurried after Dorren. Her brother had gotten a large head start, and he was already butting heads with the lord. Her brother was well muscled under his armour, and he had the same brown hair and skin tone as Father. He wasn't tall, but he wasn't short. His blue eyes often shone with curiosity. Father once said most men would be intimidated when Dorren finally matured, but that was nothing compared to Lord Rykker. The man who built an army in a day stood a full head over her brother. He had piercing grey eyes and hair as black as the raven that was constantly on his shoulder. On his back lay Father's Fury, one of the two swords melted down from Brightroar, the supposedly lost Valyrian steel greatsword found in Casterly Rock. The other sword, Winterthorn, was strapped to his hip. His armour was the customary grey plate of the Varangian Guard, with a grey cloak falling from his shoulders, topped with the black fur of a bear.

"You have been out of training for over an hour," Lord Rykker was saying "And only now you come to me?" Luella was standing behind her father, grinning like mad. She shared the colour of her father's eyes and hair, but her face and body was more akin to her mother. As far as Myranda could remember, there had been several wedding proposals from lords across the Seven Kingdoms. The most recent had come from the Iron Islands. Victarion Greyjoy's heir was twenty years old, and needed a wife. Lord Rykker might not have been the most prominent noble before the war, but he led the strongest army in the land now. That alliance was worth more than land. And before that proposal, there was Hoster Tully, Lord of the Riverlands. Lord Rykker had rejected none, but also accepted none. Myranda would have to ask Luella about it later.

"I'm sorry, Lord Rykker. I know I was wrong. Please don't make me beg." Dorren pleaded. Myranda hurried to his side and placed a hand on her brother's shoulder.

"Good day Lord Rykker!" She said brightly. Lord Rykker turned to her, looking very surprised.

"My lady." He bowed.

"My brother forgot his training, and he came down her to rectify that. So my lord," Myranda grinned. "Would you please train us."

"I, well, I-" Lord Rykker was interrupted by Luella's hand on his shoulder. His face softened as he looked at his daughter. "Alright, I will train you. But I want you here on time from now on!"

" _Time!_ " Shrieked the raven."

"Hush Munin." Lord Rykker sighed. He went to a rack and grabbed two wooden swords. The raven jumped off his shoulder and squawked as he tossed the first to Dorren, who caught it easily. When he went to through the other one to Myranda, she shook her head.

"I would like to learn to shoot with Luella, if that is alright my lord." Myranda explained. Lord Rykker nodded his assent, finding her a bow and quiver.

"Would you like a quick lesson my lady?" He asked her.

"No thank you my lord. I know enough to start with Luella." Myranda bowed to Lord Rykker. She turned to face Luella.

"Well?" Her best friend asked. "Shall we?"

"Yes, let's." Myranda grinned. She and Luella took up positions, each of them a few dozen yards from the target.

"Father likes that we get along so well." Luella said as they took turns shooting. "He's happy he brought me."

"Why did he bring you and Theo, instead of Eddard?" Myranda asked. This question had been bugging her since Luella arrived.

"Father feels guilty." Luella eyes turned angry and downcast. "He . . . forgot me. For many years." Luella took aim with her bow, firing an arrow right between the eyes of the dummy.

"I'm sorry. It must hurt to talk about." Myranda apologized.

"It doesn't. He had good reason. But I don't want to make him feel worse."

"Oh yes, the great Lord Kolgrim Rykker, brought down by a few tears." Myranda prodded.

"That would be the day." Luella laughed with her, her emotions changing instantly. "But now, I believe it is your turn Princess."

"So, Dorren." Myranda said. She took careful aim with her bow and fired, piercing the crotch of the dummy.

"Ooh." Luella winced. "What about your brother?"

"He's been getting awfully close to Arwen during her visits." Myranda shot Luella a sly smile.

"Wait. Dorren, the prince . . . and my sister?" Luella gaped at Myranda. "You're not serious!"

"Deadly." Myranda turned to look at her brother train. "I could think of worse men."

"Aye, that's true." Luella admitted. "But, my sister?"

"If Dorren's excited chatter over the last four days is any clue, yes." Myranda stepped back for Luella.

"When Father finds out, Dorren is going to need the entire City Watch to protect him." Luella laughed, stepping forwards to fire.

"Luella!" Lord Rykker called out.

"Yes Father?" Luella asked, turning. Myranda glanced over and saw Dorren flat on his ass, groaning.

"Where did I put the rags?" Lord Rykker asked.

"Over there Father." Luella pointed to a collection of wood and steel weapons. Sitting in the midst of them all was a crate of torn rags and bandages.

"I don't need to be wrapped up!" Dorren complained. He jumped to his feet and raised his sword. "Come on. Again!"

"As much as I enjoy your training, my prince." Lord Rykker started. "I cannot continue. But . . . You have improved. I would say you are a match for any man in the Guard."

"Oh. I, uh, thank you my lord" Dorren bowed. Lord Rykker bowed back before turning to Luella. A confused look took over his face.

"Wasn't there something happening today?" He asked.

"The feast, Father." Luella said. "For Lord Arryn."

"Ah yes, Osgood." Lord Rykker stroked his beard. "Wait." He glanced up to the sun, which had moved past the centre of the sky. "Damnation! Your mother will arrive soon!"

"You forgot to prepare the rooms again, didn't you." Luella stifled a giggle.

"Stay with the princess! I will meet you at the Hall!" Lord Rykker tossed his sword to a Guardsman and rushed off, cloak flapping behind him. His raven followed behind him, flying through the archway of the doors. Myranda turned to Luella.

"Again?" She asked. Luella grinned at her.

"Father tends to focus on his troops more than he should. The last time Mother visited King's Landing, she had been here for a day before he came up from the training camps." Luella explained.

"If Father ever did that to Mother, she would take his crown and melt it in front of him." Myranda and Luella shared a laugh. "Oh look, the Grand Maester." Grand Maester Horas emerged from the corridors of the keep, looking back and forth.

"Princess!" He called out as he spied Myranda. "Your father wishes for your presence at the Hall for the arrival of the Lords Paramount!" He wheezed as he hurried over to her. "You may bring your handmaiden," He groaned, pointing to Luella. "Do you know where I might find your brother?"

"Here Maester." Dorren called out. He had put away his sword and stripped off his vambraces and gauntlets.

"Oh, my boy, you must put on the tunic I had made! The Crown Prince must not feast in armour!" Horas fussed.

"Alright, alright. See you at the feast sister!" Dorren shouted as he was led away by the maester. Myranda turned to Luella.

"Well, we mustn't be late!" She said slyly. Luella smiled before offering her arm.

"Well my lady Princess, you should let your 'handmaiden' escort you there." Luella laughed. Myranda joined in, the two woman heading towards the Great Hall of the Red Keep.


	3. Robb

_Sooooooo, what's up? If memory serves, I posted a chapter at the beginning of summer, said I would have another one out in a week, then vanished off the face of the Earth. I am here to make an apology in the form a 2500 word chapter. I honestly got sick in July, then never looked at my stories for the rest of summer. Only the message 'update'_ _net_ _by Frozen862 got me writing, so I pumped this out in about four days. I hope it is satisfactory and I hope you all can forgive my lazy ass. Now then, for the people. I realized a few minutes before making this that putting everyone in every chapter would just be too big, so each chapter I will put in the new people for the favourites and follows, and anyone who reviewed the previous chapter. Here goes:_

 _The_ _favourites: Duvauchelle, Frozen862, Kedrigern, Shadowwolf1997, TheGrimSqueekr, Torrhen Stark (I made your descendant king!), Yolo Right, baronnis, devouringnormal, eddard, ipodcrush, jmknz777, raya1124 and stevebond1990_

 _The followers: Albhwa, Auxiliaryzoro, Duvauchelle, FeathersEarned, Frozen862, Shadowwolf1997, TheGrimSqueekr, Verrix, Yolo Right, baronnis, eddard, ipodcrush, pathilo409 and waaaaaaa_

 _The reviewers (I will try to respond personally to you guys): Master of Dragons God, TheGrimSqueekr, FeathersEarned and of course, Frozen862._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 _Chapter Three: Robb_

* * *

"Lord Redwyne, always a pleasure." Robb inclined his head to the Reachman noble.

"To you as well Your Grace." Dace Redwyne replied. As Master of Ships, the Lord of the Arbor was almost always in King's Landing, but recent business had taken him back to his home. It was good he was back, Robb thought. Now the entire Small Council was here. Redwyne bowed deeply and took his place at the council table, just below the royal family's own seating. Speaking of the royal family . . .

"Grand Maester." Robb called.

"Yes Your Grace?" Horas inquired, gazing up at Robb.

"Where is Dorren? The Crown Prince should be present when a new Lord Paramount is chosen."

"The prince was training with Lord Commander Rykker, so I sent him to be bathed Your Grace. He should be done by now, and will be here soon." The Grand Maester assured Robb.

"Thank you Grand Maester." Robb smiled.

"Of course Your Grace." Horas bowed and returned to his seat. Robb was very glad the Citadel had sent Horas to be Grand Maester after the late Pycelle took poison before being captured by Glover men.

"Robb." Someone's hand on his shoulder shook him from his thoughts. He glanced over to see his wife and queen giving him a chiding stare. He smiled at her and took her hand in his own.

"So my love, what have I done now?" Robb joked.

"You have ignored your own daughter, who has just arrived." Arianne nodded towards Robb's other side. Robb turned and saw Myranda, his first child and only daughter, being seated by her handmaiden, Kolgrim's daughter.

"At least try to be formal Your Grace." Arianne finished before going back to smiling and waving at every new quest. Robb leaned away from her and towards his daughter.

"Your Grace." Her handmaiden bowed and backed away, giving the royal family space. Robb inclined his head and looked at his daughter.

"My guards tell me you and your brother were chasing each other through the keep." Robb said. Myranda gave her father a sheepish look.

"Dorren and I were just trying to have some fun before the feast Father. You know how boring they are." She folded her arms across her chest.

"Aye, I do. But naming a Lord Paramount is important. Did you know that both the Royce's and that lord from Gulltown have both requested the title of Lord of the Vale? They haven't even waited for the Arryns to die out first."

"Really?" Myranda raised an eyebrow. "Lord Royce must be very ambitious."

"He's nothing like his father, that is for certain." Robb grunted. "But that is why we must do these things. To show our support to the new lord and to appease the lords we do not support."

"Yes Father." Myranda said sullenly. Robb sat back and watched her call her handmaiden over. Those two were very attached to each other. Well, Robb himself was very attached to the girl's father. Speaking of whom . . . Robb scanned the room. There were ten tables set up for all the lords and ladies of Westeros, four on one side, four on another, plus the council table and the king's table. The Reach lords were directly to his right. Lord Willas, the husband of his sister Sansa, sat in the center, surrounded by the high lords of the Reach. Tumbleton, the Shield Isles, the Ring, and the Westmarch were all represented. Next in the line were the Dornish. His brother-in-law Trystane led that party, but Robb could not name any lords except the Vaiths and the Daynes. Next were the Ironborn. Victarion Greyjoy sat amidst the Goodbrothers, the Harlaws and the Orkwoods, muttering loudly in an angry tone and glaring at any 'green' lord who dared get too close. The last on that side were the Lannisters and their bannermen. Lord Kayce and Lord Westerling being the only ones Robb knew.

"Robb!" An exuberant voice called out. Robb looked down at the council table and saw his brother Brandon standing there, a cup raised and his cane in his hands.

"To you, brother! To the king and his rule! Long may he reign!" Brandon shouted. Most of the lords cheered, the loudest being the North. Robb grinned. When he had become King of the Iron Throne, Robb had spent much gold on healers, sorcerers and magicians, trying to fix Brandon's legs. It took three years, but finally a shadowbinder from Asshai had come. He worked for a fortnight, letting no one but a single nurse into the room. His chanting could be heard throughout the keep though. And when he was finished, Brandon had strolled out, the grin of a young boy on his face. He could walk with the aid of a cane thanks to that man, who had only requested a single gold piece and a dragon bone from the Red Keep's dungeons. Robb had gladly paid that price. And now Brandon was fit to be Warden of the North. Speaking of the lords of the North, Robb glanced at his loyal bannermen, who had seen him through thick and thin. Lord Umber took the center seat, since Brandon was sitting at the council table. Lord Glover, the Skagosi, Lady Mormont and the old Lady Ryswell, Roose Bolton, and the northern clans were all there. Kolgrim's son Eddard would be there, but a raven was sent saying the young lord of the Rills was hunting rogue reavers along Sea Dragon Point. Robb had accepted the excuse and sent the raven back with a letter thanking young Eddard for defending the North. After the North came the Riverlands. Lord Piper was leading a drinking match among his fellow bannermen. Lord Blackwood and Lord Bracken were trying to outdo the other, while Lord Frey and Lord Mallister smiled from the edges of the table. Poor Lord Darry looked like he wanted to hide in his cloak. The lords of the Vale in contrast very solemn, waiting to know who their new leader would be. Lord Royce looked very smug, no doubt expecting to be chosen. If he was not chosen, he would probably challenge the victor to a duel. Robb was ready for that though, but he would not think on it unless it happened. At the very end of the left sat the lords of the Stormlands. Lord Renly was chattering to them all, a grin of his face. Most of his bannermen looked very light-hearted as well, excluding Lord Dondarrion. Robb guessed that it was due to the small war he had fought against one of his cousins. And directly below Robb sat his Small Council. Grand Maester Horas, Dace Redwyne, Tyrion Lannister, Master of Coin, Hoster Tully, Master of Laws, Caen Florent, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Brandon, Robb's Hand, Varys, the Master of Whisperers and Kolgrim Rykker, Lord Commander of the Varangian Guard. He was currently speaking to his young son Theo, making gestures with his hands and a few ridiculous faces. Robb smiled. It was time to begin. He glanced over to his squires and nodded. The two boys picked up their trumpets and took deep breaths. They began to play a welcoming blast, their faces puffing up with the exertion. All the lords in the room slowly quieted down, some taking longer than others. Robb waited until all was calm before standing.

"My lords and ladies. I welcome you to the Red Keep!" Robb raised his mug. There was a mix of 'hear hears!' and 'Your Grace!'. "You know why we are here. It has been many years since a Paramount Council. But we have done this before, for the good Lord Tyrion," Robb nodded to his Master of Coin, "My cousin Lord Hoster," Robb nodded again, "For Lord Victarion and for Lord Willas and Prince Trystane. And now we have come to announce it for the Vale. Lord Jace, cousin of Lord Jon Arryn and Lord of the Vale has passed. The lords of the Vale have held their council and have their choices for their new liege. We all now look to the Crown." Robb paused, looking over the faces of his bannermen.

"For centuries, even millennia, the Arryns have ruled and protected the Vale. Osgood Arryn," Robb pointed to the man in question, who had just entered, called by the horns "served as castellan to his father. He knows how to rule, how to manage. He has led incursions against the mountain clans, proving his military prowess. He is in the very essence of the word, a lord." Robb readied for what would happen next. "But there are those who say that a few millennia is too long. The Arryns have been in power too long. It is time for a new power to rise, they say. Lord Dunstan Royce has the support of the Sisters and Ironoaks. He is the greatest commander in the entire Vale. He would be a great lord some say. Well, in some cases he would be right. But not now." Robb watched as Royce's face first went to confusion, then anger as he continued. "We have finished our fighting. The boy-king Joffrey, the Stepstones Invasion, the Tyrell Uprising and North of the Wall. I have been your king for twenty one years, and this will be the first year where we can have real peace. So, with the advice of my councillors, I have decided to support a lord who can rule and heal, rather than destroy. Osgood Arryn, you have the Crown's support." Robb breathed out, thankful that was over. Osgood was grinning like a fool, while Royce was so angry the veins on his face were popping out. From the lords of the Vale, Lord Tollet walked up to the center.

"As steward of the Vale, and in the name of all lords who swear fealty to King Robb, we accept Osgood Arryn as our liege lord. May his reign be long and bountiful." Lord Tollet bowed and stepped away.

"NO! NO! I refuse to let this happen!" Royce screamed. Robb sighed. It was happening.

"I accuse you of not being fit of your title!" Royce pointed a crooked finger at Osgood. "I demand a trial by combat, to see who the gods decide to lead!" Royce said smugly.

"Very well." Robb waved his hand, sitting back in his throne. Osgood shot him a confused and slightly scared look. Royce grinned in triumph and drew his sword. Osgood moved for his own.

"Stop." Robb commanded. "Stand back Lord Arryn." Looking even more confused, Osgood bowed his head and backed away. "Lord Commander Rykker, Lord Commander Florent, please handle this." Robb looked at his friends. Kolgrim and Caen grinned back.

"As Your Grace wishes." Kolgrim said loudly, standing up from his seat. Caen rose more quietly, sliding towards Osgood. Kolgrim stalked towards Royce, the raven on his shoulder cawing menacingly. When Royce looked thoroughly intimidated, Kolgrim changed directions and too stood before Osgood.

"My lord, it would be my honour to fight in your stead." Caen offered.

"I would also fight this maggot, my lord." Kolgrim said, glaring at Royce.

"Thank you Lord Commanders. But, I think I would like Lord Rykker to fight for me." Osgood bowed to them both. Royce paled nearly instantly.

"What is this?" Royce nearly screamed. "Your Grace, I challenged Arryn!"

"And I am Lord Arryn's champion." Kolgrim said, emotion leaving his voice. Slowly, he drew Father's Fury from the scabbard on his back. Robb smiled. While Osgood had commanded men in battle, he did so from the back. He was not a good fighter, in any sense of the word. Royce was a great commander, far better than Osgood. But he was also trained far, far better. Dunstan Royce had been among the few young Vale lords that Robb's own uncle Brynden Tully, known as Blackfish, had taught. But according to his uncle, Dunstan was also the one who took the lessons the worst. He was good, but not that good.

"Come on boy, show the king the gods support you!" Kolgrim taunted, lazily balancing Father's Fury on his shoulder. Royce continued backing up.

"In a few more steps the fool will hit the doors. I wonder what he will do then?" Lord Tyrion intoned,sounding very bored.

"Lord Commander Kolgrim will most likely behead the poor boy." The Spider answered, not taking his eyes off of the two combatants.

"Seems that we will get to see," Hoster chuckled, taking a sip of wine. And he was right. Royce had chosen to fully retreat, running away from Kolgrim.

"I yield!" He screamed. "Don't kill me!" Royce prostrated himself, weeping on the floor. Kolgrim marched right up to him and kneeled down. Kolgrim whispered something into Royce's ear, and Robb saw his eyes shoot open in terror.

"Get up!" Kolgrim growled loudly, hauling Royce to his feet. The burly man pushed Royce all the way back through the Great Hall, past all the lords of every realm. At the end, Kolgrim shoved Royce down onto his knees in front of the Iron Throne.

"You have challenged your liege lord to a duel, you have insulted him and you have insulted the king!" Kolgrim roared in Royce's ears. Then he raised his sword and aimed for the young lord's neck. "Your Grace? My lord?" He asked.

"No!" Osgood shouted. He glanced up at Robb apologetically. Robb waved a dismissive hand, wanting Osgood to continue. And continue the Valeman did.

"Please do not kill him Lord Kolgrim." Osgood began. "You are correct, he is my bannerman. And he did challenge me."

"He would have bloody killed ye!" An old Riverlander shouted.

"Yes, most likely." Osgood agreed. "But I don't want them to say my lordship of the Vale began with murder." Osgood paused, letting the assembled nobility titter and whisper among themselves. "With Your Grace's leave, I would have Lord Royce sent to the Wall. He can serve with honour and fight the wargs and the dead for the rest of his life."

"No! You can't!" Royce screamed again, spittle flying from his mouth.

"He can, and he will." Kolgrim growled. "But we could always see how sharp my sword is . . ." After that, Royce shut up. Robb stood, drawing everyone's attention.

"I agree. Let Lord Dunstan Royce be banished to the Wall, for the crime of betraying his liege and attempting to attack a man in the Great Hall itself. So say the king!" Robb let his words sink in before retaking his seat. The nobility stood, sounding their approval. Robb had carefully earned the respect of his bannermen, and their bannermen. He knew Royce's actions would not stand among them. Glancing down, Robb nodded to Kolgrim. Kolgrim nodded back and motioned to two of his men, who marched up and took Royce's arms.

"Be careful north of the Wall." Kolgrim grunted. "Just because all the wildlings are gone, doesn't mean the devil beasts and wights aren't." Kolgrim slapped Royce on the back and the Varangians marched away.

"Now that the unpleasantness is over my lords," Robb raised his mug. "I believe I promised you a feast!"


	4. Kolgrim II

_So, here we are. Chapter 4. I want to apologize in advance, because no matter how many times I rewrite this chapter, it just feels off. Maybe it's the sex. Oh, did I not mention? Yeah, MATURE CONTENT. At least, my best attempt at it. But on to other matters. Our reviewers, favourites and follows!_

 _The reviews: Master of Dragons God and Hiei-Uchiha (Thanks for reviewing guys!)_

 _The follows: Carnacki23, Hyakka, Leo Potter, , osito and purple sky always (I thank you for following this story!)_

 _The favourites: Alucard Bellsing, /ememHiei-Uchiha (again), Leo Potter (again), (again, wow so many 'agains'), Spidey Legend, animefancahanaonargu (that's a mouthful), mccarthypaddy4. merlin1989, and oonstar (I am so happy so many people are liking this story enough ton favourite it!)_

 _Now that that's done, I have an announcement. Well, two technically:_

 _I want someone who has skill in drawing, or art in general, to make individual drawings of Robb, Daenerys and Kolgrim from this story, and one of all three together. (So, twenty years older than the actual books). The problem I have is that who will do this for free? I am three things: Broke, crappy job and a student. I can't pay for this, so I am forced to ask for volunteers to do this of the goodness of their heart. Then I had an idea. It's not money, but it might work. If you want to participate, you send me a PM saying so. I will send you a PM with descriptions of how they look and my FFN business email. You will draw them to the best of your ability and email me the pictures (Just scan them if you drew them by hand). I will select the best ones, and probably use one as the title page for this story. In return, the best artist will get to create a character, down to the marks on their skin, and give them a backstory. I will give them a position of importance of their story, and then you hope they don't die. That is my offer, starting the second anyone reads this. (I know this is cheap. I hope a character is worth it)_

 _Anyways, enjoy!_

* * *

 _Chapter Four: Kolgrim_

* * *

"This is useless Your Grace." Kolgrim muttered to Robb. He stood next to his king, watching as the last few drunken lords wound down.

"How is that, old friend?" Robb smiled up from his seat, nursing his wine.

"The lords came to acknowledge Arryn as Lord of the Vale. Well, they did. I made sure of that." Kolgrim grunted darkly. "But to spend so lavishly on this bloody feast? It's been three days! You are not Robert Baratheon, Your Grace."

"I know." Robb nodded. "And I will never abuse the people. I am not Joffrey either." Robb glanced at his wine, hesitating before taking a long draught. "Lord Tyrion and I went over the finances. The Iron Throne has had a surplus of several hundred thousand dragons per year. We have saved over the last ten years, which means-"

"Your Grace, please." Kolgrim raised a palm to his forehead. "The only time I ever need to worry about money is when it comes to the yearly equipping and payments for the Guard. Other than that, I would prefer to never speak of the subject. I will trust your judgment."

"Thank you." Robb grinned at his friend. "Well, to sum it up we have several Lannister sized fortunes stored away. We could afford well over a hundred feasts and tournaments as well before we made a dent."

"That much?" Kolgrim's jaw nearly dropped in surprise.

"Well, no." Robb shrugged. "Not that much, but we do have a lot."

"Good for the throne." Kolgrim smiled. He surveyed the room again. "Have I ever mentioned how much I hate the Brackens and the Blackwoods?"

"No, I don't believe you have before." Robb looked up at him. "Care to explain why?"

"Look around you!" Kolgrim waved an arm. "The Blackwoods are here, supporting Arryn. For just that reason, the Brackens supported Royce, and didn't even show up." Kolgrim snorted. "They hate the Blackwoods so much they forget themselves."

"Let it be Kolgrim." Robb soothed. "I will deal with them." Kolgrim nodded his assent. Then a thought occurred.

"Where is the queen? I would have thought you two would have taken the feast as the perfect time to dance."

"Ah." Robb sighed. "I may have taken your side in an argument, and Arianne is punishing me for it." Kolgrim couldn't help himself, chuckling at his king's misfortune.

"Oh Robb," Kolgrim patted his friend's back, momentarily forgetting his usual punctuality. "You have forgotten, be you a farmer or king, that your wife always has the final say."

"I'll drink to that!" Robb laughed, raising his glass. Kolgrim grudgingly picked up his own untouched drink and tapped it to Robb's. Without any hesitation, Kolgrim downed the Arbor red in a single swallow.

"You know you aren't supposed to drink wine that way my lord." Tyrion Lannister chuckled, drunkenly taking a seat to Kolgrim's right.

"I know damn well." Kolgrim slammed his goblet down on the table and glared at the Imp. The small man grinned stupidly and raised his own goblet, slurping wine. He looked ridiculous.

"So, speaking of wives, where's yours?" Lannister waved at Kolgrim. Kolgrim stared daggers at the little man, but it didn't dissuade him from asking again.

"Come now my lord, you know I won't stop bothering you until you tell me." The Imp smiled a knowing smile.

"I wasn't there. I would guess she went to see my son." Kolgrim grunted.

"Ooh, the one Lord Stark is raising? Lovely little boy, quite cynical though." Lannister laughed. "And I assume she would have left already?" In truth, Kolgrim did not know. Three days of feasting had kept him sidetracked, trying to use the City Watch and the Guard to keep down unruly nobles.

"So my lord, where might your wife be?" Robb half-smiled at his Master of Coin.

"Oh, I'm sure she's here somewhere. You never can miss the Westerlings." The Imp swallowed.

"Who's that now?" Lannister changed the subject, pointing to a flustered and sweaty man who had just rushed into the Hall. He scanned the people of the Hall, looking fearfully behind him before spotting Robb in his throne. The man wore a usual messengers garb, a common tunic and breeches, sheathed in a grey cloak.

"Your Grace!" He shouted, dodging past a drunken Lord Bracken and moving towards Robb. Kolgrim moved around the table to intercept the man at the stairs of the Iron Throne.

"Your Grace!" The man shouted again, running up to Kolgrim.

"What is it?" Robb leaned forwards, his eyes seeming to interrogate the man right there. The messenger fell to his knees, gasping for air. Glancing behind him again, the man looked up at Robb.

"Braavos has fallen."

"This is madness!" Kolgrim shouted. The Small Council members stared at him in surprise. As one of the two Lord Commanders on the Council, Kolgrim's role was almost exactly like Caen Florent's: ceremonial. He rarely spoke on matters, and if he did he did it quickly. Kolgrim hated the council meetings, preferring to sit with Florent on the far side of the table. On a battlefield, among his men, Kolgrim Rykker was without equal. He was hailed as one of the best commanders in Westeros, if not the known world. Even Essos and Slaver's Bay had heard of his exploits in several wars. But among the schemers, diplomats and moneylenders of court, Kolgrim felt completely out of his depth. Well, not today. Today, he would take charge. Tyrion Lannister, for all his ploughing skills in court, was never going to lead an army from the front. Neither would Hoster Tully, the King's cousin. Florent would never leave Robb's side, and Horas? Never. Redwyne though . . . Kolgrim could easily remember the day his hatred for the man sparked.

 _"_ _Tell me Lord Rykker." Redwyne drawled as he sidled up to the larger man. "Why exactly are there two Rykker houses?"_

 _"_ _It is none of your concern, Lord Redwyne." Kolgrim answered with chilling disdain. He knew of Redwyne, the whoremongering, delusional and violent man that he was._

 _"_ _Oh, but it is. We're going to be council-mates, I say we get to know each other. So, I think I want to know about the swords and the hammers. Will you explain ser?" Kolgrim ignore him for several days. He was called the Unbreakable for a reason. But then young Prince Jon came and asked him the same question. Caught off guard, and wanting to please the prince, Kolgrim explained._

 _"_ _You know of House Darklyn my prince?"_

 _"_ _Yes, I do know them!" Jon had said excitedly._

 _"_ _Well, after King Aerys killed them, he held Duskendale for several months. During that time the, oh blast it, fourth or fifth removed cousin of my grandfather tried to take over the Rills with wildlings. He failed, and ran. His children came to King's Landing, and the bastards somehow charmed the Mad King. Or Tywin Lannister. In any case, they were granted Duskendale, and have been staring smugly at the North ever since." Prince Jon had opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted._

 _"_ _Haha! I told you Lord Rykker, I would find out your secret!"_

 _"_ _What?" Kolgrim spluttered. "You!"_

 _"_ _Me." Redwyne grinned. "Thank you my prince, for your unwitting part." Redwyne tossed the boy a stag and trotted off. It wasn't the fact that Redwyne knew that enraged Kolgrim. It was the fact that he tricked him into revealing it. Thus, his hatred for the man. But his thoughts returned to the present. And to this shite excuse for a council._

"And what exactly is madness, Lord Commander?" Hoster Tully prodded, eyeing Kolgrim with a raised eyebrow.

"All this stupidity!" Kolgrim nearly roared.

"Stupidity?" Grand Maester Horas spluttered. "The Small Council has carefully set a plan that will help the realm-"

"A plan?" Kolgrim stared at the maester in surprise. "A plan?" Horas nodded.

"A good one too," Tyrion Lannister muttered.

"It could use work." Florent shrugged. Kolgrim nodded to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

"Look at the last twenty years." He spoke clearly and loudly, turning back to the Council. "Daenerys Targaryen has been actively in war for eighteen years of her reign, and she's only reigned for nineteen!" Kolgrim explained. "First Astapor, then Yunkai, then Meereen. Did she stop there?"

"Not a bit." Robb acknowledged.

"Exactly!" Kolgrim pointed. He looked down at the council table. An addition made twelve years ago, the table was huge. It had a map of Westeros and Essos on it, with figurines representing people and forces.

"Look here. The Dothraki Sea." Kolgrim moved to another section of the table. "Two years, and Targaryen had conquered them, started building cities and banned slavery there. Two damn years." Kolgrim continued down. "Ibben swore fealty, even though her armies moved west. Sarnor has not been a single kingdom in centuries, but Daenerys Targaryen made it whole. The same with Hazdhan and Essaria. Mere names of regions, until Targaryen dragons made them whole." Kolgrim stopped for a breath and was cut off by Hoster.

"Yes yes, but what does this have to do with-" He started.

"Twenty years!" Kolgrim roared at the slim man. "Twenty years it took for Daenerys Targaryen to take Essos, the Dothraki and Ghiscar! And we have a chance to stop her!"

"What is this chance?" Robb leaned forwards, Kolgrim's words piquing his interest.

"Targaryen only has an army of about fifty thousand." Kolgrim said. He listened to the murmurs of the council before speaking again. "I realize that seems ridiculous, but her dragons caused far more damage and surrender than any army could. She is currently in Braavos now, we know this. Lord Varys." Kolgrim turned to the eunuch.

"Hmm?" The bald man sighed. "Oh yes, my letters. Well Your Grace, it seems that Daenerys does not take her garrisons with her. Any surviving soldiers of the realms she conquers stays in the realm. Only a select guard moves with her, and she has sent most of this to Pentos. Why, we can only guess."

"She means to invade." Florent slammed his fist down, realization in his eyes.

"So it would seem." Dayne Redwyne cut in, leaning back into his seat.

"With most of her army heading to Pentos, we have an opening." Kolgrim started. "She only has about ten thousand left at Braavos." Kolgrim pointed to the sea-city on the map. "Braavos has no walls." Kolgrim took a deep breath.

"I say we move the Varangians out, have your brother spread some rumours of mountain clansmen reappearing in the Bite. I'll take the Guard, and when we move out, we take a detour north. At The Neck we can board ships without the threat of spies. We pack the ballistas as well. The Guard will move quickly, and we can make it to the Braavosian Hills within a fortnight. We would move under darkness, and set up overlooking the city."

"And what then?" Lannister asked sarcastically. "Demand their surrender? How did that work with the Reachman my lord?

"No." Kolgrim grinned darkly. "No surrender. No parley. We use the ballistas, and we fucking burn Braavos to the ground, with Targaryen and her dragons in it!" Kolgrim swept his arms out, waiting for the council's reaction. What he got was not something he was expecting.

"No." Robb said quietly.

"What? Your Grace-" Kolgrim nearly choked on the words. He stared at Robb, noticing how Brandon Stark nodded in agreement with his brother.

"The plan won't work." Robb said solemnly. "The dragons would survive, and they would burn _you_ to the ground Kolgrim. I will not risk you or the Guard in a suicidal attack."

"It would work! Your Grace-" Kolgrim spluttered.

"It's final, Lord Commander." Robb's face hardened, and Kolgrim knew he had gone too far. Redwyne waved smugly at him. Kolgrim in turn glared at his rival.

"Yes Your Grace. Please excuse me." Kolgrim bowed stiffly, twisting around and marching out. As he left, he felt the eyes of Willem Royce and Ron Baratheon, the two Kingsguard on duty, on him as he left. A quick glare at both turned their heads, and Kolgrim stormed out. He kept his face blank and his back straight as he walked past giggling maidens and sleepy men-at-arms.

"It wouldn't work." He whispered. "Demand their surrender!" Kolgrim barked a laugh out, balling his fist. But he let it go, leaning back against a column.

"You took their sides Robb," Kolgrim moaned. "Fucking Lannister and your cousin and Redwyne! What do they know?" His voice grew steadily angrier and louder. "I led your men next to you! I fought Beyond The Wall, not them! I know strategy, not them! IT WOULD WORK!" Kolgrim roared, turning around and slamming his fist into the column with all his might. He hit it over and over, his anger getting the better of him. Finally, he stopped. The stone hadn't even shuddered. Kolgrim stood there for a moment, watching the blood from his knuckles seep down the column onto the walkway.

"Mm, I pity the poor stone." A light voice chuckled.

"Leave!" Kolgrim ordered, twisting around to see who would dare bother him now. The answer left him feeling dread and shame.

"Ah, Lady Arya. "I mean't no disrespect." Kolgrim backed up hastily. The lithe woman laughed, leaning against another column.

"We both know that isn't true Rykker." She smiled sweetly, but the look in her eyes told Kolgrim to tread carefully. Robb's second sister was dangerous, that was for sure. Not just politically. Arya Stark would not hesitate to take a knife to the first man, or woman, to show her contempt or disrespect. Why she hadn't let loose on him was a mystery.

"I take it the council meeting didn't go in your favour?" Arya asked. Kolgrim nodded, flexing his hand. His knuckles weren't broken, but pounding on the stone had opened up the skin.

"What was it this time? Did Redwyne steal your chair again?" She giggled, looking up to the stars.

"No, I- I made a plan, and Robb refused it." Kolgrim admitted shamefully.

"That's it?" Gone were the light tones and laughs. Stark's voice was as hard as steel, and just as sharp. "You raged so for that? The great Kolgrim Rykker, acting like a child! 'Oh King Robb, Redwyne is being mean to me', is that what you are?"

"No milady." Kolgrim looked Arya dead in the eyes.

"Good. I would hate for my brother to have made such a poor decision in his friends." Kolgrim's jaw tightened, but he refrained from speaking. Arya noticed, and she smiled. "I see not everything is wrong with you." She yawned, stretching out her arms. "Good night Rykker. Your daughter is looking for you." And with that, she strolled away. Kolgrim moved to stop her, but caught himself.

"What in the seven hells would Luella want now?" Kolgrim scratched his head. The council had kept him awake late into the night, and the only people awake now were the guards and ne'er-do-wells. Then it occurred to him that Lady Arya had not told him where his daughter was.

"Lady Stark!" Kolgrim hurried towards where Arya had gone.

"Shit." Kolgrim cursed. Now he would have to wander the halls trying to find Luella. _She must be with Princess Myranda_ , Kolgrim thought. It made sense. His daughter was handmaiden and friend to the princess. Kolgrim started towards the princess's quarters. The halls were abandoned, no sign of Lady Arya or any other living creature. As he went, Kolgrim passed by an open balcony overlooking a large courtyard. Stopping for a moment, Kolgrim peered down. He thought he saw a light, but when he leaned over the stone railing it was gone.

"Seeing things." Kolgrim concluded, rubbing his eyes. Looking up, he saw the Tower of the Guard. A sneer took over his face. The Kingsguard had their White Sword Tower, Brandon Stark had the Tower of the Hand. Robb had thought it appropriate for the Lord Commander of the Varangian Guard to have a similar abode. Kolgrim had opposed the idea nearly vehemently, simply because of the sheer waste of resources. Kolgrim could live in the barracks himself, with his men. Now he saw the reasoning behind the Tower, and actually lived there, but the memory still enraged him. Kolgrim stepped back, turning back towards the hall. A small black shape shot itself straight at his face.

"Ah!" Kolgrim shouted, bending backwards. The shape flew over him, curving back around to land on the railing.

"Gods damn you Munin!" Kolgrim hissed, glaring at his raven. Munin cawed back at him.

"What are you doing out?" Kolgrim asked the bird, holding out his arm. Munin hopped onto him, climbing onto Kolgrim's shoulder. He blinked at Kolgrim's question.

"Of course. You can't tell me." Kolgrim chuckled. But Munin wasn't done. He pulled at Kolgrim, flapping his wings. The daft bird was actually trying to guide him!

"Alright, you damn pox. Let's go." Kolgrim caved, letting the raven guide him. Munin took him down from the hallway to the courtyard he had just been overlooking. Kolgrim picked the raven off of his shoulder and tossed him into the air, letting him fly where he wanted to go. Munin flew to the base of the Tower of the Guard and began cawing again.

"You wanted to go home?" Kolgrim raised an eyebrow. "That's it?" Munin titled his head, blinking again. Chuckling, Kolgrim went to pull open the heavy wooden door. He was stopped by the sight of light inside the Tower.

"What?" Kolgrim whispered. Suddenly wary, he wrenched on the door, heaving it open.

"FATHER!" A girlish voice shrieked. A moment later a small body slammed into him, arms wrapping around his neck.

"Ooh!" Kolgrim coughed, sucking in air. "Marnan!" His youngest daughter was currently hanging from his shoulders, smiling up at him. Kolgrim kneeled down so Marnan could put her feet on the ground. Marnan released his neck and rushed back into the Tower.

"Munin found you! Theo! He's here!" Marnan shouted excitedly as she hurried to the stairwell, Munin following behind. She was ten and three years old, but she behaved as childish as the day she was born. Albeit with a slightly less amount of spittle involved. As he thought this, Kolgrim's son Theo sprinted down the stairs towards him. Theo was ten and one, and behaved as such. Then, to Kolgrim's complete surprise, after Theo came his youngest, Gregor, his daughters Arwen and Kathlyn and his son Cellador. Cellador and Kathlyn were both ten and six, but born ten months apart. Arwen was ten and five, excitedly trying to get her father to marry her to her childhood friend Mors Umber. Gregor was seven, and a bloody loud seven year old at that!

"Haha!" Kolgrim roared with laughter. "My little ones!" He heaved Arwen, Marnan, Theo and Gregor up in his arms, giving the four children a huge bear hug. He swung them around, the children laughing as their legs flew out. Setting them down, Kolgrim held out his arms to Cellador. With a shrug, his son embraced Kolgrim, chuckling. Cellador would never be a great warrior like Kolgrim's bastard Perwyn, or a proud lord like Kolgrim's heir Eddard, but he loved art. And he didn't mind showing a bit of affectionate weakness. Kolgrim switched targets and gave Kathlyn a kiss on the cheek.

"How goes your marriage?" Kolgrim asked as he embraced his daughter.

"It's goes well Father. Osric is good to me, and the Dustins are kind." Kathlyn said as she wriggled out of his hug.

"They had better be." Kolgrim ruffled his daughter's hair affectionately. "I missed you my little ones!" Kolgrim laughed, his deep voice reverberating throughout the tower.

"The little blades missed you most Father." Cellador patted Theo and Gregor's backs.

"Theo! I warned you once already! You're a man, not a symbol." Kolgrim rubbed the bridge of his nose. Theo had seen the banners of the Starks, heard how men called Robb the 'Young Wolf', and immediately decided to do the same with his own family banner. Even though the Rykker banner was simply two swords on a black and white field. Thus, his little blades were born.

"Ooh!" Gregor suddenly hooted. "Upstairs!"

"What's upstairs?" Kolgrim raised an eyebrow. "Something you want to show me?"

"No!" Gregor gigged. "Go upstairs Father! Go!" He cackled maniacally as Cellador pulled him off of Kolgrim.

"I have him. Go on Father. Your rooms." His son encouraged him.

"Alright. You know I hate surprises." Kolgrim warned. Cellador smiled knowingly.

"You'll like this one."

Kolgrim shrugged and moved to the stairwell, curling up against the stone wall. As he ascended to his chamber at the top of the tower, he heard Munin cawing something about love.

"Daft bird." Kolgrim grunted as he reached the top, shooing Munin away from the curtains. "Why do I keep you around? You're nothing but trouble."

"Well now. I certainly hope you're not addressing me, my love."

"Wha-? Alys!" Kolgrim spun, spying the speaker. It was a woman. She was aged but still radiating an otherworldly beauty, and Kolgrim knew her. he roared and rushed at her. She brought her arms up to her chest, giving him the perfect handhold to grab and thrust her in the air.

"Alys!" Kolgrim laughed. "You're here!" He pulled her down against his chest, kissing her hungrily. His wife and love were here, and nothing could make him more happy in this moment.

"Ah," Alys gasped for air, wrapping her arms around Kolgrim's neck. "I thought you might have forgotten about me, dear husband."

"Never." Kolgrim swore. "Never my love."

"Where were you when I arrived?" Alys shot him a mocking glare. Kolgrim set her down slowly, guilt washing over his rough features.

"I . . . was occupied."

"You have been occupied for the last three times. I should have expected no less, I suppose." Alys pouted, stepping back towards his bed.

"Alys, forgive me. I put my duties ahead of you, I am sorry." Kolgrim admitted. He moved forwards taking Alys' hand as she sat back.

"Did you greet the children?" She asked.

"Greet them? Did you not hear the vicious attack on my person?" Kolgrim chuckled.

"Oh, I heard it. I just wanted to know if there were words involved." Kolgrim sat next to his wife.

"It is late. Why are they still awake?" Kolgrim asked, looking out at the moon. It had to be midnight, or past.

"I could not get them to sleep. They wanted their father." Alys laid her head on Kolgrim's shoulder.

"Come. Let me put them to bed. Even Cellador." Kolgrim rose, taking his wife's hand.

"Yes, let's." She agreed, following him down.

It was nearing dawn, and he hadn't slept. The children were tired, and they hadn't put up a fight before the little ones were sleeping softly. Cellador lit a candle and opened a book, promising he would sleep after he finished his passage. Kathlyn joined him, reading over his shoulder. Both of them were still there, sleeping on each other's shoulders. Yet Kolgrim still lay there naked, Alys' arm wrapped around his chest and her leg entwined with his own. Once again, he closed his eyes and listened to his wife's heart beat against his chest. Needless to say, he could not rest. So, as carefully and as slowly as he could, Kolgrim unwrapped himself from Alys' embrace, sliding off of their bed. He rose carefully as to not disturb Munin on his perch. Once he was sure no one was woken, Kolgrim marched to his swords. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well train. He hadn't made it halfway before Alys' voice stopped him.

"My love? What are you doing?" She called quietly to him.

"I . . . I was going to train. I couldn't sleep." Kolgrim explained. Alys sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"Why did you not wake me? I could have burned the incense. It always worked at the Rills." Alys rose, coming up behind Kolgrim and wrapping her arms around his waist. She nuzzled his back, breath hot.

"I did not wish to disturb you." Kolgrim admitted. Alys chuckled.

"Men and their bloody honour. 'Help the woman, don't wake the woman, defend the woman'. I am not a pretty little flower that you might break. Besides," Alys's hands moved down, wrapping around his manhood. "There are better ways to spend the early morning than training." Kolgrim groaned as she stroked him, letting the warm feeling flood through him. He twisted around, drinking in the sight of his wife's body. Her breasts were as pert and firm as the day he'd married her, and her hips fit nicely into his hands. Kolgrim reached around her and grabbed her buttocks, pulling her up to his level. Alys giggled like a silly maiden and wrapped her legs around him, pulling herself tight against Kolgrim's chest.

"I've missed you more than you can ever know." Kolgrim whispered into his wife's ear as he lay her down and spread her legs. _Aye,_ he thought, _there are_ much _better ways of spending the morning._

* * *

 _See! SEX! I told you there'd be sex! (At least, my weird approximation of sex. Okay, I'm done. See you when I post another chapter!)_


	5. Daenerys

_So, I have a quick apology to make. I will not be working as hard on Fanfiction for the next few weeks for two reasons. The first is that I had a hard drive crash, and lost over two thousand pages of stories, both published and soon-to-be published. The second is that I am currently part of a small group making our very own Star Wars fan film. To give you an idea of my workload for it, it will be about an hour-ish long, and my jobs are: The only writer, assistant editor, only choreographer, only costume designer as well as one of the main actors. I am doing my best on it, but as it is our group's first real film it will not be very good. If anyone wants to check it out, the trailer should be out on this channel:_

 _ **/**_ ** _channel/UC5scmRuGQ27mD8B_6ewa6Hg_** _on youtube_ _in about a week._ _So yeah, sorry about not being able to write stories for a while. I hope you enjoy this quick chapter as my send off apology._

 _Please review, follow and favourite, and most of all, ENJOY!_

* * *

 _ **Chapter Five: Daenerys**_

* * *

She strolled down the corridors of the Sealord's Palace, her loyal Kingsguard flanking her. Or rather, her Queensguard. They protected her, not her deceased husband. The sheer volume of her power brought a smile to Daenerys Targaryen's face, a place normally barren of emotion. Her son Aerion, the Lord Commander, was directly to her right, conversing with the Unsullied warrior Blue Roach to her left. Jacaerys Norevar, the younger brother of the Lord Paramount of Mantarys, marched ahead of her, clearing the way with his shining white armour. Behind her stood Jhogo, one of her loyal bloodriders, and sweet Torgon Vaele, son of her Master of Whispers. These five were the survivors of the Siege of Braavos. Yes, a siege, Daenerys mused to herself. She, Aerion and her heir Daemion all rode dragons, making her queen of skies as well as the earth. Yet she still had to lay siege to Braavos, for fear of burning the wooden island into the bay it occupied. It mattered little. The Stormcrows, the Second Sons, the Unsullied and the Dragonseed were more than a match for the Braavosi fleet. Now she reigned supreme in Essos and beyond.

"We are almost there Mother." Aerion warned her. Daenerys nodded to her son, and he reverted to the stoic warrior he was. She approached the main chambers, a place the Sealord would greet visitors and discuss with his council. Now she would listen to the pleas of her people. Two men-at-arms stood ready at the entrance, bowing slightly as they pulled open the heavy oaken doors. The hall fell silent, four dozen people staring in amazement at their Dragon Queen and her white shadows. There were few torches lit, as the majority of the light came from the large glass skylight.

"Behold, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Ghiscar, Blood of Old Valyria, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Empress of Valyria and Queen of the Iron Throne." Aerion roared. As her people fell to their knees Daenerys smiled kindly at them, letting them see her face. Ser Jacaerys parted the crowd as her dragons had parted the Smoking Sea, allowing Daenerys to move to her throne. Her whitecloaks took up their positions, two next to her, two at the foot of the throne and one standing before her. Wrought from bronze and white marble, the throne's two colours clashed and mixed wonderfully. It was smooth, tall and cushioned. Everything a queen's throne should be. She leaned into in, resting her arm on the side. With a raised hand, the day began.

"Your Grace," A slight Braavosi man came before her first. She recognized him. Moryn Terys, one of the prominent merchants in Braavos.

"Lord Terys," Daenerys smiled kindly at her subject. "What is it the noble patrician of House Terys wishes of me?"

"Ah. 'Lord' Terys. It sounds very nice doesn't it, Your Grace?" Terys waited for her to nod before continuing. "I have played my part. My men opened the waterways and the gates, while my sons secured the Sealord. I wish to be your representative in Braavos when you choose your final seat, as per our agreement." He knelt before her, bowing his head to the floor.

"He did assist in the siege Mother." Aerion whispered. Daenerys nodded to her son. Aerion was always a good ally. He'd see all men who served get their due, and all who opposed burn. A mindset shared by Daenerys herself. As she rose from her seat, the entire court fell silent.

"You are correct, Lord Terys. We do have an agreement." Daenerys smiled at her newest bannerman. "Moryn Terys, scion of a great Braavosi house, I name you Lord Paramount of the Hundred Isles, Lord of the Titan and Braavos. From now until the end of days you and your sons, and their sons and so on will rule here." Terys' supporters in the crowd cheered, while a few of the other merchants scowled.

"You will also have the Braavosian Coastland sworn to you, to build on and grant as you see fit." Daenerys finished, taking her seat.

"Such is the word of Queen Daenerys. Are there any others who wish to speak?" Aerion spoke strongly, looking at each face.

"None that cannot be brought before our new lord, Your Grace." An old woman wearing fine clothing bowed. Others followed suit, trailing behind Lord Terys as he moved to his new quarters in the Palace. Soon the hall was empty save for the queen, her white shadows and a few men-at-arms.

"Send for my council. We have many things to discuss." Daenerys ordered her men. Two Dragonseeds bowed, hurrying out to follow her commands. She noticed Aerion glaring at the men as they left.

"Is something wrong, my son?" Daenerys asked casually.

"Your army bothers me, mother." Aerion admitted. He had put this argument forwards before.

"And what about them is so wrong, that you look upon their backs with such hate?"

"Their name." Aerion growled.

"Their name?" Daenerys asked.

"We are Targaryens, mother. The last dragonlords. _We_ are the last blood of Old Valyria, not them. You went to Tolos, to Elyria and Mantarys, even to Lys and found those strongest with the old blood. They are as close to our own people as we can get, I understand. But to grace them with the name _Dragon_? It is . . . foolish, Your Grace."

"You do not understand, Lord Commander." Daenerys' voice grew cold. "They are the lowest of the low of our blood. That means they have nowhere to go but up. And they will only rise if I say it. I did not give them the name of the dragon as a favour, but as a means to ensure loyalty. Never question me again."

"Yes mother." Aerion whispered meekly. The throne room was filled with an awkward silence for nearly an hour, until a green shadow shot over the hall and a deafening roar resounded through the wood. Daenerys smiled at the sky, waiting for her son. Sure enough, Daemion Targaryen, warrior and heir to the Empire of New Valyria entered.

"Hello Mother!" He laughed with all the swagger of the Seven Kingdoms. "Brother." Daemion inclined his head to Aerion. The two boys got on well enough, but Daemion would never forgive Aerion for taking his childhood dream. Yes, Daemion was heir to the empire, but he had wanted for so long to be Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He had thankfully removed that foolish notion from himself, and now stood proudly next to his mother as the heir apparent.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your summons?" Daemion asked, bowing low.

"We will wait for the rest of the council to arrive before we discuss it, my son." Daenerys said sternly. One needed to take steel into themselves to handle Daemion. Her son nodded and stood next to the throne.

"What took you so long brother?" Aerion asked his brother smugly.

"It seems I am the first to arrive, so I do not think it was so long." Daemion shot Aerion a cocky smile. "But if you must know, I was tending to our sister." Aerion stiffened at this.

"Our sister is too good for you." He growled through clenched teeth.

"Yes yes, I know you are closer to her than Rhaelon or I, but if Visenya thinks she can tease the court for years on end, she had better be able to deliver to _me._ " Daemion's eyes hardened as he and Aerion glared at each other. Aerion stayed stiff, not looking at Daemion. He didn't say anything, but Daenerys could read him easily. _Visenya is not for you, for me or for Rhaelon. She is for whomever she chooses._ Daenerys sighed quietly. Aerion was a harsh opponent to the age old tradition of divine blood marriage, and had more than once bruised his brother's face in defense of his twin sister. Luckily for Aerion, bookish Rhaelon had never shown any attraction to Visenya, for if he ever assaulted Daenerys' youngest he would feel her wrath.

"Be silent the both of you. Do not diminish our power before those below us, ever." Daenerys said coldly. Her quiet demand carried throughout the entire room, silencing both her sons. Aerion snapped to attention, staring stiffly towards the hall entrance. Daemion continued to glare, but contained himself and sat next to his mother. Sure enough, those below them filed in. The first was one of Daenerys' oldest friends, her Master of War Grey Worm. The first among her Unsullied marched in, refusing to wear anything other than his signature grey armour and spiked helmet. After him came Jaekar Vaele, her Master of Whispers and the father of sweet Torgon, next to Nacerys Norevar, Lord Paramount of Mantarys and her Master of Laws. Unlike his strong younger brother, Nacerys was a hunchback. His face was scarred by an axe that had almost cut his head in half, leaving half of his face sagging permanently. Despite this, he was the most eloquent speaker Dany had met, and had championed her cause in his homeland with such zealotry Dany had rewarded him with a Lord Paramouncy. Then came her maester, a poor Reachman named Liam. He had been sent by an Archmaester called 'the Mage', to serve the future queen of Westeros. Finally came Reznak mo Reznak, a Meereenese noble Dany had deemed skilled enough to serve as Master of Coin. Soon all were seated at a large round table the Dragonseed had brought in.

"What is it you wish of us, my queen?" Nacerys asked first.

"You know why, my friend." Daenerys smiled wickedly.

"Then it is finally time." Daemion sighed, leaning back into his chair.

"Yes my son. It is time." Daenerys stood. As she did, Reznak slapped his hand down.

"My queen, we cannot!" He cried out. Aerion's lips curled into a snarl, and his hand went to his sword. Daenerys stopped him before turning back to her Master of Coin.

"Why can I not do something I wish, Lord Reznak? Are you insinuating you can order me?" Reznak blanched, visibly growing pale.

"N-no my queen. But the army is tired, and we have just won a great victory. Would it not be better to wait and rest?"

"You are correct my lord." Daenerys answered. Reznak let out a sigh of relief and retook his seat.

"We will not attack with the army." Daenerys proclaimed. "We will distract out enemies with peace talks." Daenerys' tone was hard, showing that she would take no arguments.

"Peace talks with whom, mother?" Aerion asked from beside her.

"Our spy in Kings Landing has a list, my lord." Jaekar Vaele answered. He produced a piece of parchment from his robe and laid it across the table. "Lord Hoster Tully, Lord Brandon Stark, Lord Dace Redwyne, Lord Tyrion Lannister, Grand Maester Horas, Lord Commander Caen Florent, Varys the Spider and Lord Commander Kolgrim Rykker. All loyal to Robb Stark." Vaele spat the last part out in a vile laugh. While the rest of the council did not understand his humour, Daenerys smiled as well. _Yes,_ she thought. _All loyal_.

"We will exchange prisoners for both Lord Tully and Lord Commander Rykker." Daenerys ordered.

"Why those two in particular, Your Grace?" Nacerys spoke for the first time.

"Those two will give the usurper Stark the greatest hope for peace." Daenerys answered. "We will lull him into a false sense of security, then we will strike." Daenerys turned her gaze to Jhogo and Torgon Vaele.

"Bring me my children. We must speak with them."


	6. Rhaelon

_Yo, I am back! I am going to lead with the apology, so here goes: I am going to do a few chapters of Darkest Light, Brightest Shadow, my new Star Wars story, so I wouldn't expect any ASOIAF chapters any time soon (From me or GRRM). I would like to thank you all for making this my highest viewed story ever. I hit one thousand views in a day and a half, two thousand in a week and I have been going up constantly ever since. That gives me a nice warm fuzzy feeling, so keep it up. Anyway, here's the first chapter starring the younger two Dragonspawn! Enjoy!_

* * *

 _ **Chapter Six: Rhaelon**_

* * *

"Look brother, here's our reception!" Visenya giggled. Rhaelon glanced up from his book, one of the three copies of Septon Barth's work remaining in Essos. Sure enough, three galleys were sailing towards them from the west. Rhaelon peered closer and saw the signature white sails with a grey direwolf head embroidered on them.

"The Starks spared no expense, eh Torgon?" Rhaelon asked his friend. As a member of the royal family Rhaelon was granted his very own Queensguard. He had chosen Torgon Vaele, the quiet son of his mother's spymaster. The two had quickly struck up a friendship, starting with Rhaelon teaching Torgon how to read. His sister Visenya however had of course chosen the most attractive of the Kingsguard. She chose Ser Jacerys, Lord Norevar's brother, with the white hair and fine features of the old dragonlords. They were a fit for each other, truly. Where Jacerys was tall, Visenya was short. The knight stood at just over six foot, whereas his sister was barely over five. They had the same white-blond hair, but Visenya had long luscious locks where Jacerys had nearly shaved his head clean. Jacerys had a hard face that held some kindness, whereas Visenya had full lips and soft cheeks. Jacerys, despite being a muscular warrior, had a very flat chest. Most men Rhaelon had known to put on that much muscle had soon gained a very . . . protruding chest as well, though not as much as the massive gluttons across Essos. Visenya took great pride in her full, pert breasts. She wore a low-cut black dress in a southern Westerosi style. In fact, it was so low cut that it uncovered the inner half of her chest and stomach. She used it and others like it relentlessly at court.

"Indeed, my Prince." Torgon agreed quietly. "The war galleys hold over three hundred men, each one trained in both the sword and the oar."

"And how does a strong man in white armour learn something like that?" Visenya called out from her litter. Torgon immediately went red in the ears.

"I am not that strong Princess." He spoke. "But when my father found out the good Prince had taught me to read he demanded I go through every book about every engine of war in existence. He hopes that I will be a military leader greater than Orys Baratheon."

"Well?" Visenya asks, her tone suggesting disinterest. "Are you on par with the great One-Hand?"

"No." Torgon bent his head. "It shames me my lady, but I am not a leader of men. The one thing I have found that I am skilled at is the sword, and even then I would prove barely a match for Stark's Kingsguard. Ron Baratheon is ten years younger than I am and he is twice the swordsman I am."

"You seem to look up greatly to the stags." Visenya noted, a faint frown on her face.

"As well I should Princess." Torgon answered. "Orys was possibly the brother of Aegon the Conquerer and was his greatest general. He gained his renown without the use of a dragon. His son Raymont saved King Aenys' life from the Poor Fellows. Lyonel the Laughing Stag fought alongside Ser Duncan the Tall against the cruelty of the Bright Prince. Ormund Baratheon fought and died for his king on the Stepstones. Robert Baratheon, for all his faults, brought down a dynasty that had lasted three hundred years."

"Which has recovered nicely I think." Rhaelon interjected.

"Indeed my Prince." Torgon nodded. "Ron Baratheon would not make a good lord like his brothers, but he is in the position Jaime Lannister was almost forty years ago."

"And what position is that?" Visenya asked. Her eyes were now bright with attention, and shone coldly.

"A young member of a Kingsguard, scion of a great family, one of the greatest warriors of the realm. A good path." Torgon mumbled. He stared at his feet, not daring to meet Visenya's eyes. Luckily, Rhaelon's sister broke out into a wide smile.

"Too true white knight. Too true." Visenya trailed off, picking up a glass of wine and sipping daintily. Rhaelon went back to his book as Torgon began pacing up and down the deck.

' _You should not have mentioned Lannisters, my friend.'_ Rhaelon thought. ' _Visenya would slit all the lion's throats if she could'._ It was not much longer until Jacerys came to them.

"Stark's ships are upon us Princess." He informed his ward.

"Excellent!" Visenya clapped her hands giddily. "Come Rhaelon! I want to see the giant's blood!" She leapt of her litter and rushed towards the helm, forcing Jacerys to chase after her.

"For a grown woman, she acts like a child." Rhaelon muttered. He was but ten and seven, whereas his sister was twenty years old. "And obsessing over the giant's blood! I should never have told her that story!"

"Which story my Prince?" Torgon asks, a bemused expression plastered on his face.

"The giant's blood is a northern tale." Rhaelon began. "In short, it tells how a clan of giants called the Ryk, who helped Brandon the Builder build the Wall were given land for themselves in the North. They built a mighty keep for themselves, and mated with humans. Eventually they became one of the great houses of the North, the Rykkers. And one of the men coming to negotiate is Kolgrim Rykker, the current head of that house."

"Does . . . does it work that way?" Torgon asked. "Giants and humans . . ." He trailed off.

"I don't know, and I don't care to find out." Rhaelon headed down to their ship's main deck. "There is no way I will ever go north of the Wall to find a giant."

"A good idea my Prince." Torgon nodded heartily. Rhaelon continued on, grimacing at Visenya's excitement. But too be fair, he also wanted to meet Stark's ambassadors, not to judge how tall they were but to hear some tales about the War for Dawn. How Robb Stark and Edmure Tully could have possibly defeated literal ice demons without the aid of dragonfire seemed . . . ridiculous. A story. He was interrupted by a Stark sailor shouting from the lead war galley's deck.

"Catch the line!" The diminutive man roared. The Dragonseed on board rushed to obey, letting the Targaryen sailors continue sailing. The white-haired soldiers heaved, pulling the war galley closer. Stark sailors swarmed on the other deck, using hooks to pull the two ships closer together. When the war galley was safely secured to the Targaryen ship they began laying wooden planks across both ships. The bridge was finished in under a minute.

"Efficient little insects aren't they." Visenya muttered to Rhaelon.

"Indeed." He said indifferently. The Stark sailors backed away from the galley's railing and three men marched out. The two in front seemed very similar. They were both of average build, in noble clothing and cloaks. Both men had fiery coloured hair and eyes of such a bright blue Rhaelon could see them from his own deck. The man on the right was clearly younger, and clean shaven. He wore a belt made of silver fish, shiny and bright. His clothing was much more refined and light. The man of the left wore a simple grey tunic, heavy fur boots covering his feet. He limped slightly, walking with the assistance of a cane. The cane's head was carved in the shape of a snarling wolf. Just barely uncovered by his black cloak was a gold pin, an open hand pointing down. A pointed beard covered his chin and upper lip. They walked along steadily, as if unaware an angry giant was following them. Visenya seemed to notice this as well.

"Good lords." She called out happily. "You seem to have a souvenir from beyond the Wall."

"My lady, please do not mock Summer. She may be getting older, but she is far from incapable." The bearded man laughed as the younger man hopped onto the deck. The giant carefully helped the bearded man down onto the deck before stepping down himself.

"Summer?" Rhaelon asked. There was no way this massive warrior had such a . . . feminine name.

"My direwolf." The bearded man said plainly, as though direwolves ran rampant every other day.

"A direwolf?" Visenya gawked. She rushed to the side of the ship and stared in amazement at the Stark's galley. Rhaelon walked over to his sister.

"What are you looking a-" Rhaelon choked on his words, looking across the water. Sitting there on the Stark ship was the biggest wolf Rhaelon had ever seen. Truthfully it was the only wolf he had actually ever seen outside of a book, but it was astounding. It must have been almost six feet tall on four legs, with a body almost as thick as Drogon's leg. It's fur was a deep silvery sheen, and it's eyes held strange intelligence.

"Incredible." Rhaelon breathed. He immediately spun around and hurried over to the bearded man. The giant moved to intercept him, but the bearded man waved him off.

"How much does it eat? Do smaller wolves fear it, or do they follow? How long did it take to grow?" Rhaelon shot out question after question. He had to know more. For some strange reason, the bearded man's eyes narrowed.

"Summer is a _he,_ not an _it._ " The bearded man growled. His tone was hard, not jovial as it had been.

"Ah." Rhaelon swallowed. "I am sorry. I have studied dragons so much, I have gotten used to referring to them as 'it'. You see, dragons have no genders." Rhaelon explained.

"Really?" The bearded man's eyes widened. "Interesting." He opened his mouth to say more, but the younger man put a hand on his shoulder.

"We do have business to do cousin." He chuckled.

"Yes, of course." The bearded man sighed. He turned to face Rhaelon and Visenya. "I am Brandon Stark, Warden of the North and Hand to King Robb." He bowed stiffly, not going down as far as his waist. Rhaelon decided it must be the famous injured leg of the Broken Wolf.

"And I am Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Master of Laws to King Robb." The younger man bowed as well. His bow went below his waist, and he kissed Visenya's hand.

"Mmm, quite a charmer ser." Visenya tutted.

"And this," Stark flourished to the bearded giant behind him "Is Kolgrim Rykker, our chief general and Lord Commander of the Varangian Guard." Rhaelon looked the giant up and down. Pitch black hair and a thick beard that went down to his throat covered his head. His storm grey eyes looked at Rhaelon with a mixture of suspicion and repressed anger. It was startling to see that look in a man he'd never met before. Rhaelon now realized the man wasn't actually as big as he'd assumed, Lord Tully was just on the shorter side and Lord Stark was stooped when he walked. Still, he had to be taller than seven foot.

"Targaryens." Rykker bowed even more stiffly than Lord Stark. His voice was booming, even with the quiet tone.

"Giant." Visenya chuckled. She stood taller and curtsied to Stark. "I am Princess Visenya, the Jewel of Valyria." His sister loved that title. The most beautiful maiden in the realm they called her. She never let him forget.

"I am Prince Rhaelon." Rhaelon bowed to Stark and Tully. Rykker unsettled him, so he decided on a nod to the big man.

"Well, now that introductions are over with," Stark clapped his hands together. "I am here to escort you to King's Landing, where you will be received by His Grace King Robb. In return, your men are to escort Lord Tully and Lord Rykker to your mother Her Grace Empress Daenerys. Are we agreed?"

"You are in an awful rush, Lord Stark. Should we be worried?" Visenya asked lightly.

"No my lady, I simply want to see my family as quick as I can." Stark answered honestly. Visenya nodded her assent and waved to Jacerys.

"Sweet knight," She said quickly. "You will remain here. Please escort our guests to my mother. Make sure no one bothers them." Jacerys looked about to argue, but he held his tongue and nodded quickly.

"Excellent." Visenya grinned. "We will be accompanied by Ser Torgon Vaele as security." She directed this to Lord Stark.

"Of course." He agreed.

"Does Lord Tully or Lord Rykker have any guards they would like to take with them?" Rhaelon asked. Tully answered with a hearty laugh.

"I am the guard." Rykker growled. He patted the longsword at his hip and nodded to the big sword on his back.

"Of course ser." Rhaelon said hastily. He moved to the bridge with his sister. "Torgon. With me."

"Yes my Prince." His loyal friend answered, marching along behind him. Rykker helped Stark onto the bridge and with one final wave the four of them crossed over to the Stark ship.

"Into the wolf's maw." Visenya giggled quietly. Rhaelon shushed her quickly before Lord Stark heard. Rhaelon turned and watched as Ser Jacerys led Rykker and Tully below decks before Stark's hand on his shoulder distracted him.

"I will need to send a raven." He informed Rhaelon. Then he turned and shouted to the crew. "Captain Perwyn! A word!" Immediately a man almost as big as Lord Rykker marched out of the crowd and made his way over to them.

"Yes Lord Stark?" He asked. His voice held the same booming volume as Lord Rykker's, but instead of hostility there was a hint of joviality, like he was about to challenge Lord Stark to a drinking contest.

"This is Prince Rhaelon and Princess Visenya." Lord Stark motioned to Rhaelon and his sister. "Would you please show them to their rooms and assist them with any difficulty?"

"You're sending a captain of the Guard to be a guide?" The man laughed warmly. Rhaelon decided he liked him, despite how much he looked like Lord Rykker. He had the same hair and hair colour, but the younger giant was clean-shaven. His eyes were a bright hazel. His face made him look like he was honestly happy to see Rhaelon, as opposed to lord Rykker's stony visage.

"No my boy. Without your father on board you are the greatest warrior we have. I am simply being courteous to the ambassadors of the largest empire in history." Stark gave the young giant a pointed look. "Wouldn't you agree."

"Of course." The captain replied. But he was no longer looking at Lord Stark. His eyes were trapped on Visenya, as hundreds of pairs had been before him. The strange thing was that Visenya actually seemed . . shy under his gaze. She looked back at the young giant with a mixture of interest and a slight amount of hunger. The young giant got down on one knee before Rhaelon's sister and took her hand.

"Perwyn Snow, my lady." He said throatily. He pulled Visenya closer and kissed her hand deeply. To Rhaelon's immense surprise his sister actually _blushed_.

"Princess Visenya Targaryen, the Jewel of Valyria." She giggled.

"You are a Jewel indeed my lady." Snow grinned, rising to his feet. Visenya turned back to Stark, blushing even more furiously.

"He will suffice, Lord Stark." She said calmly. "Come Captain. Show me my quarters." Her tone was playful. Rhaelon held back a sigh. This poor man had no idea what was coming.

"This way my Princess." Snow motioned, leading the way below deck. Rhaelon had no choice but to follow behind his sister and her soon-to-be toy.


	7. Apology

Hello people. I come bearing shitty news and some slightly better news. As of May 5, 2016, I lost both my story file and the notes for this story. While I could easily re-write the story itself, without my notes I have no real idea what to write. Once I put it down to paper (or in this case, text) I tend to forget the details. And now it's all gone. And to be honest, since the last chapter I have kind of lost the will to write this. It was my first foray into ASOIAF, and while I think I did alright for a first try, it wasn't that good a story. I am working on a new story about Jon Arryn and Stannis the Mannis called So The Falcon Hunts, and it is still in progress. Essentially Jon narrowly escapes being poisoned. I have created an OC for that story as well, but he won't be nearly as powerful os good old Kolgrim. I hope you enjoyed what I was able to post for this and I do hope you'll come back for the next story. Till then, good luck and goodbye!


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